The Key Killer
by thequeenofzombies
Summary: A new serial killer sweeps Las Vegas; with the most bizarre M.O. the CSI’s have ever seen. With each new victim, the case grows deeper, and more terrifying. Especially after the killer begins to stalk one of our favorite CSI’s…
1. Chapter 1

The Key Killer

**Disclaimer: CSI is owned by CBS. Not me.  
Summary: A new serial killer sweeps Las Vegas; with the most bizarre M.O. the CSI's have ever seen. With each new victim, the case grows deeper, and more terrifying. Especially after the killer begins to stalk one of our favorite CSI's…  
Rated T for gore n' blood and blood n' gore.**

Greg Sanders approached the crime scene as he had approached hundreds of crime scenes hundreds of times before. He could not know how very different this crime scene was, and how very different this crime was, and how much this specific crime would change his life. If he did know, he most likely would not have approached the crime scene, or have even gone into work that day. He might've shoved the case aside, and let it die. But he did not know, so he walked into the grand mansion just outside the Las Vegas city limits.

The victim's name was Jack Freidman. He was the CEO of a computer software company, and had made his millions back when the Internet was the latest technology. But those days had long since faded, and they were clear in the upkeep, or lack thereof, in the house. Weeds sprouted in the lawn, and the flowers were dead, and the paint on the house was chipping immensely. Yet the blonde trophy wife still looked like she was boasting an eight-digit bank account.

Greg and Wendy approached the body lying at the bottom of the stairs. Jack's broken glasses were lying off to the side of the body. Stacy Friedman, the man's third wife, was the first witness at the scene. She had found the body after coming home from tennis practice. Samantha "Sam" Friedman, the man's daughter from his first marriage, was at her friends house when the body had been found. Neither had an alibi.

Wendy had not been a CSI for long, as she made a clear rookie mistake the minute she walked into the house. She assumed the man had fallen down the stairs, breaking his neck in the process. Of course, this was untrue, as both Greg and Wendy were about to find out.

"Liver temp puts the TOD around two hours ago." David said, turning to face the two CSI's. "No other wounds besides the neck, looks like it's broken. Oh, and his ankle appears to be sprained." Wendy nodded; ready to break away from this already boring case, before she noticed something.

"Is that a shoe impression on his back?" she asked. Greg looked at the clear sneaker impression made by dirt. He nodded.

"Flip him over David." David flipped the body, the button-down shirt riding up a bit as he did so, which is when Greg noticed something that would change the entire case. "What's on his stomach?"

Wendy and David looked down at the bizarre, oblong cut along the stomach.

"Looks like a surgical wound." Wendy said matter-of-factly.

"No," David said. "It wasn't done with a surgical knife, and it's sewn together with thread, and there aren't any surgery's in the victims medical record."

Greg paused. "So what _is _it?"

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Greg, Wendy, and Doc Al were all crowded around the body lying in the morgue. Doc Al cleared his throat. "The cut was inflicted with a regular kitchen knife, most likely a sharp meat cleaver. It was inflicted post-mortem. There is one shoe impression on the vic's back."

"All consistent with getting pushed, well, kicked, down the stairs. Murder, not an accident." It was Wendy.

"Yes. Normally with fall victims, there are bruises along the arms from attempting to grab a railing, or something, to stop the fall. This guy only has bruises on his legs, which means that he most likely didn't try to catch himself when he was falling."

Wendy didn't catch on. "So you mean he was most likely already dead when he fell?" Greg asked. Doc Al nodded. "So the COD was a broken neck, plus the shoe impression on his back, means that someone kicked him, snapping his neck, and the force of the kick sent his toppling down the stairs." Doc Al shrugged, as if to say, _Don't ask me, that's your job. _

"So wait, what was in the wound on his stomach?" Wendy asked. Doc Al grimaced.

"This is where it gets bizarre. I don't think you're dealing with just any killer. This appears to be a serious M.O." Greg and Wendy looked at what Doc Al was holding in his hand. Wendy nearly barfed.

Greg was speechless for a minute, before he managed to say something. "Is that…a key? Inside the victim?" Doc Al nodded. Greg sighed; after all, he had seen some pretty weird stuff in his career. "Well, you know what they always say… the key to a man's heart is through his stomach."

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_Stay Tuned to find out what happens next!_

_Do you like it? Review if you want more! Thanks!_


	2. Chapter 2

The Key Killer  
**Disclaimer: Still do not own CSI. Darnit.  
**

Besides the footprint, there was little physical evidence at the scene. The footprint was a women's, size ten tennis shoe, which neither the wife nor daughter wore. Wendy was getting more and more frustrated by the minute. If it _was_ an M.O. she and Greg had only one option, which was to wait around for more bodies to pile up. Meanwhile, Stacy had gotten a lawyer, and started claiming she was being harassed by policemen at the scene, who were allegedly calling her a gold-digger. The dead CEO, his young, and newly rich wife, the harassing police officers, and the mysterious key in his stomach led to one of the biggest media buzzes gruesome murder has ever scene. Reporters were asking everyone they could get their hands on who the suspects were, why someone would do this, and, Greg's personal favorite, who the Key Killer was. It was the birth of the biggest serial killer since Natalie Davis.

In the meantime, however, no more bodies piled up. Three weeks went by and Greg and Wendy were no further then they were when they first walked into the scene. Eventually, after a month and half with no new leads and no evidence pointing to a serial killer, the investigation turned, not on the gold-digger wife, but the teenaged daughter. Sam Friedman was not a happy person, which became abundantly clear to Wendy during the interview. Sam barely said a word, and when she did, it was negative.

"My father was cheating bastard. He swindled thousands of people into buying his software, when it didn't even work. He cost people hundreds of dollars. The Internet didn't kill my dad's business, the people did. No one liked him, not me, not Stacey, not even his own mother could stand to say in the same room as him for more that five minutes. I'm not surprised someone got to killing him."

Wendy hated witnesses like this. "That's not exactly the best way to prove that you didn't kill you dad." Sam scoffed.

"Um… hello? Is anyone in there? I'm a sixteen-year old girl. I highly doubt I could kick my dad down the stairs, even if I wanted to. And just because I hated my dad, didn't mean I wanted to kill him. That would give Stacy all of the estate, the money, well, whatever money we had left. If I wanted to get rid of my dad, I would've run away, not given all the money to that lying skank of his." At that moment, blessing Greg walked into the room. Wendy thought for a moment she saw Sam's eyes brighten with curiosity, but when she looked again, Sam's eyes were nothing more than the grey blur they had been five seconds ago. Unfortunately for Wendy, Greg simply laid the case file on the table and left, and Wendy was left alone again with Sam.

"Who was that?" Sam asked. She did not seem wholly curious, it was more as if she asked the question because Wendy expected her to ask it, not because she really wanted to know the answer. It was at the moment that Wendy Simms was positive that Sam Friedman could not have murdered her father. She may have wanted to, but she simply didn't have enough passion to think about it for more that three seconds.

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While Wendy was questioning Sam, Greg was questioning Stacey. It was not focused on Stacey herself, as it had been the first time, but on Sam. And, not to Greg's surprise, Stacey had no nice words to say about her stepdaughter. When Greg asked the question "So, tell me about Sam," the woman let out a high, annoying laugh.

"That rotten apple, just like her mother." Greg blinked, but he wasn't surprised. Stacey had pinned Sam for the murder from the first interview, and hadn't wavered since, not even when the most likely suspect was a serial killer. Stacey did not notice Greg's non-surprise, and continued on. "I'm sure she did it. She _hated_ me. She _knew_ that people would call me a gold-digger when my husband died. She _knew_ it would ruin my reputation! She _knew! That lying bit—"_

"Mrs. Friedman, why do you think that Stacey would've wanted to kill her father, when all the money went to you? Wouldn't she have much easier killed you, and gotten you out of the way?"

Stacy Friedman laughed again. "Please! If she killed_ me_, I would've died a hero. I would've been the only thing her father thought about. All the girls at the country club would've cried for me. Not a mean word would've been spoken about me! I'm dead! You can't scorn a dead woman, hasn't she suffered enough? That's what we learned with Mary Alice! Murderer, liar, baby-stealer, and yet still _respected_ and _loved_ by her friends! I mean-"

"I'm sorry, who is this Mary Alice?" Greg said. Stacey Friedman gasped, then composed herself.

"You've obviously never watched _Desperate Housewives_!" Greg had to suppress laughter. Of course, the spoiled rotten housewife, what would he have expected? She was the type to watch all those soap operas. Unfortunately, after this brief near laughing fit, Greg didn't come close to laughing throughout the interview. The spoiled, bratty, brainless Stacy Friedman had nothing to say but airheaded comments about nothing at all. When Greg finally got out of the interview, he ran nearly smack dab into Catherine.

"Greg! How are the interviews going?" Greg grimaced. "Ah, I see. Well, much I've enjoyed the media circus running around the building, I think the case is a lower priority. Unless Wendy gets a confession out of the daughter, I pulling you two, and shifting it to swing shift." Greg nodded. He couldn't say he was glad to leave the case without knowing who did it, but he definitely wasn't sad to see it go. Of course Wendy got nothing from the sour-faced Sam Friedman, and when Greg and Wendy left work that day, the both thought they had finally gotten off this case.

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Wendy was having a particularly creepy dream about being slowly dissected in a morgue, well fully awake and alive, and having a giant key pulled out of her torso, when her phone rung. It was three-thirty PM. Wendy picked up the phone.

"Hello?" She surprised herself at how awake she sounded. Wendy had never really been one to sleep well, but even when she did, she as up in a matter of mere minutes. She hadn't slept for more than five hours since she started working the Graveyard Shift in Vegas.

"Wendy, it's Greg." It wasn't like he needed to say that. Wendy knew it was Greg just from his voice. She'd loved that voice for three years, and had been ignored as nothing more than a friend by that voice for three years. "Wendy, we need you come down here."

"Why?" As if she didn't already know.

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Wendy approached the scene cautiously. She had expected it; she _knew_ it was going to happen. But serial killers didn't wait this long between victims. Not usually. But this wasn't a usual city; it wasn't a usual case, so why did the killer need to be usual?

The first thing she noticed was the body. Redhead, female, 4'9 maybe, pretty skinny. Nothing like the first victim. The only similarity was the large, red, poorly sewn together wound on her stomach. The second thing she noticed was the note, stapled to the victim's forehead. It read:

"Hello Wendy, hello Greg, sorry for the wait  
When I saw this victim I did not hesitate  
I know it made you angry, how long you tapped your feet  
Waiting for you two and me to finally meet  
But now I assure you I am back  
And this vic really cried  
If you want the key to how I am  
You must look inside"

Greg sighed and took the note off the victim's forehead. He turned to Wendy gave it to her, and shook his head. "Looks like the Key Killer's back." Wendy nearly crumpled the paper in her hand.

"Dammit."


	3. Chapter 3

The Key Killer  
**Disclaimer: Not mine, never will be. Unless I get really really rich.  
**

Charlotte Baker, called Charlie by her friends, was a 21 year-old college dropout, on her way home to California, via an old, dusty, broken down RV. Her friends filed a missing persons report after she vanished one night, and did not show up to take the morning drive. The search wasn't high-priority, the police (and even her friends) were sure Charlie either backed out of the trip, or found some guy to run off with. But after 5 days with no sign, the story became a three-second blurb on the morning news.

"Our final story is the disappearance of Los Angeles native Charlotte "Charlie" Baker, who went missing five days ago. Her last known sighting was a gas station/ truck stop in Las Vegas. If anyone has seen Ms. Baker, or knows any information please call the number below. Thank you, and have a wonderful day."

After one week, the news story made it's way into the middle of the news, just after the health section, and just before the filler fluff. After a week and a half, it was nearly a headliner. Charlie Baker was not found until two weeks after she disappeared. It was a headline story, but for entirely different reasons.

"The top story on tonight's news, a young woman named Charlie Baker who went missing about a week and a half ago has been found, the apparent second victim of the Key Killer, a Las Vegas serial killer who inserts key's into his victims. The Key Killer first claimed the life of Jack Friedman, an entrepreneur, best known for his software scam. Baker was 21."

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Greg Sanders did not enjoy serial killers. For some bizarre reason, every time a serial killer popped up, his life became a living hell. People were constantly throwing questions every which way, because most reporters did not understand the fact that the CSI's are not God. They do no know everything, and the stuff they do know can't always be told to the public. But for the Key Killer in particular, they knew very, very little.

What they knew was this: The victims had no common links. Charlie Baker was a female; Jack Friedman was a male. Jack Friedman was brunette; Charlie Baker was a redhead. Friedman was 5'11; Baker was a little short of 5 feet. Friedman was an introvert, who rarely went out, whereas Baker was an enthusiastic partier. Friedman was in his 50's; Baker was in her 20's. When Friedman was scamming people, Charlie was attempting to understand that 2 + 2= 4. They were killed on opposite ends of town. Friedman was a Las Vegas native, and knew plenty of people in the area. Baker knew only her three former sorority sisters.

Archie checked video surveillance from the truck stop where Baker was last seen. Baker wandered off at about midnight, on her cell phone. A close up on her face showed that she was pretty ticked off. Her friends gave the police Baker's cell number, because the phone was not on the body, or anywhere near it. The number came from a pay phone about 20 minutes off of the site. There were no camera's there, and fingerprint search turned up nothing. The tox screen on both victims showed no drugs.

The way in which they died was peculiar too. Friedman was kicked down the stairs, and apparently was caught by surprise. Baker died from a blow to the front of her head, which she would've been able to see. There were no defensive wounds, which suggested that she did not try to fight back. That was the bizarre thing, really. Baker could've easily taken over her attacker, because she was alive for approximately five minutes after the initial hit, and was a black belt in three martial arts. She could've easily overcome her attacker. So why didn't she? She wasn't drunk, or sedated, or high. She was perfectly fine. It made no sense.

Baker's parents were interviewed, as were all of her friends. While her friends had no liable alibi, the surveillance video proved that not one of them had left the RV after 6 PM. Her parents were at dinner, and they were too far away to have come to kill her. No one else knew her. Greg and Wendy tried to find any DNA evidence they could, but it was sparse. A hair from, well honestly it could've been anywhere, and a single partial fingerprint, which was from one of the friends. There was no way of telling who did this, or what they used to kill Baker, or _why._ It was getting more and more frustrating by the second.

Catherine called a meeting of the CSI's to discuss the possibilities. Brass was attempting to keep the media at bay with what little information they had, but this only caused more rumors to leak out. The headlines stopped talking about the case itself, but more about the CSI's. The latest headline was the clincher. "CSI's who caught the miniature killer attempting to do it again, with more dead weight." The report continued on to explain how the CSI's had solved the Miniature Killer case, and how they had had the wonderful "experience of their leader, the one and only Gil Grissom." It then went on explaining how Grissom had left, and had been replaced by "a bumbling, idiotic doctor… and an emotionless woman with little to no experience." The report said that at least they had the old CSI's, as well as a new, former DNA lab technician to help carry the extra baggage. There was no question to the ticked-off expression on Riley's face that morning.

"So what do we do now? Wait around for another victim to show up?" Greg was studying the note when he noticed something.

"It says _how._" The others looked up at him questioningly. "It says how, instead of who. ' How I really am.'"

Riley shrugged. "So? A typo?"

"It's hand written." The others pondered this. "Maybe it's not a clue to _who _this guy is. But what does he mean by how? 'How I really am?' That doesn't make any sense."

Wendy shook her head. It's bizarre. "Is it possible that it leads to something else, but have we really ruled out the fact that it could've just been a simple mistake?

Catherine sighed. "Look, right now it doesn't matter. Right now, what matters it that we have a deranged serial killer on the loose, and no way of catching them. So what do we do?"

To that question, there was no answer.

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Greg got the first note on a particularly rainy Tuesday, about a week after Charlie Baker showed up, dead. It was not a memorable day. There were other murders in Vegas, and Greg was coming back from the crime scene of one of those murders. The victim was a former child star turned drugie, who had been murdered by one of her former cast mates. It was a relatively easy case, open and close in a couple of hours. The guy broke down and confessed immediately once approached.

Greg was walking back to the lab-issued car, when he noticed something odd. Stuck under the windshield wiper was a damp piece of paper.

"Ad?" Riley guessed. She was standing next to him now, looking at the wiper also. Greg lifted the wiper and pulled the note out. It was pretty wet, but still legible. It read:

Roses are red,  
Violets blue,  
You'll never guess what  
Mr. Sanders, I see you  
I'll be with you today  
Until the day that you've died  
To find the key to how I am  
You must look inside.

-Love, The Key Killer.

************************************************************************************

Catherine flipped when she read the note. She had seen notes like that before, stalkers talking directly to their victims. She could've never guessed that the Key Killer was not only a serial killer, but a stalker too. It officially made Catherine go into her mother bear mode, and she demanded immediately that Greg be taken off the case. But despite what Greg had seen with stalkers beforehand, he did not want to be taken off the case.

"Catherine, all I'm saying is that the Key Killer is bound to screw up sometime. They all do."

Catherine was not happy. Not even a little. "So we wait around for more bodies to show up? Not exactly the best game plan"

"We have his handwriting." Greg pointed out. Catherine sighed.

"I'm not going to get you off this, am I? Not even at the cost of your own life?" Greg shook his head. Catherine rolled her eyes. "Then I guess there's nothing I can do, is there?"

************************************************************************************

The third victim came quickly. Jenna Barber was a 35 year-old bartender, a Vegas native. There was no poem this time. Instead, stapled to Barber's forehead, was a scrap of paper with the Key Killer's signature phrase on it. "To find the key to how I am/ you must look inside."

Nick and Ray were looking for any clues they could. Barber was found outside the bar where she worked. She was heavyset, blonde, and almost 5'6. Once again, she had not connection to Jack Friedman or Charlie Baker. The media was buzzing around, snapping pictures, making speculative comments, as they always did. Nick tried his hardest to ignore them, but it was nearly impossible.

At the lab, everyone was working double time, attempting to find some sort of connection to the three victims. Of course, there was none. Wendy had exhausted all of her resources, and had rerun every sample of DNA that she could. She was returning to her desk, about to re-examine a single piece of hair for the fifth time, when she discovered the manila envelope. In black sharpie, the words "To Wendy…. enjoy" were written. Wendy recognized that handwriting, and was sure she would recognize it for as long as she lived. The Key Killer. The Key Killer had placed and envelope on Wendy's desk. The Key Killer was inside the crime lab.

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They were pictures. Wendy, Greg, Riley, Ray, Nick, and Catherine were crowded in Catherine's office, looking down at them. Most were from the Key Killer crime scenes. Most were of Greg. All of them sent a chill down Wendy's spine.

Catherine sighed. There were no options. The Key Killer had gone from plain old, regular guy serial killer, to Charlie-Manson-crazy-psychopath-stalker-serial-killer. There was nothing anyone could do about it. They needed Greg, but at the same time, every moment he spent in public brought him closer and closer to his own death. They had no info about the Key Killer. They didn't know their sex, or age, or anything. They didn't know how much danger Greg was in, or if he was in any danger at all. They had nothing. Nothing at all.

They all sat silent in the office, the air of suspense hanging around them. No one spoke. For the first time, ever, or a least as far back as Wendy could remember, they had no idea what to do. For the first time, they were screwed.  
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Authors note: I am SO sorry about the super long wait! I feel awful. I was sick, had severe writers block, my computer broke, and I've been so busy I simply couldn't find the time to write. I apologize sincerely. But I will give you guys a slight spoiler.

_Wendy blinked twice. Her mind was hazy, and she had no idea where she was. She tried to move. No use. She was bandaged to the table, which was made of a cold, hard metal. She shivered. She suddenly realized that she was not alone. There was a shadow standing in the doorway. The shadowed moved toward her, walking into the florescent light. Wendy's eyes widened. She was petrified._

"_Y….you." The shadow smiled. And then they held up a knife. Wendy Simms screamed. _


	4. Chapter 4

The Key Killer did not like Wendy Simms. She was constantly getting in the way of the Key Killer's operation. She was an unimportant speck on the windshield of humanity, and the Key Killer could not wait to be rid of her. She was whiny, and horrid. But the Key Killer needed to find a way to get rid of Wendy without setting off alarms, which would ruin the Key Killers scheme of getting Greg. And the Key Killer needed to get Greg. The Key Killer needed that badly.

So what to do with Wendy? The Key Killer supposed the easiest thing to do would be to kill her. But that would set off alarms with the team, and they wouldn't let Greg anywhere near the Key Killer scenes. No, that wouldn't do. The Key Killer needed Greg near the scenes. That was where the Key Killer needed Greg. So killing was out of the question.

The Key Killer was frowning, though the Key Killer was not currently aware of this. The Key Killer often frowned when thinking of Wendy. Why did Wendy love Greg? Why not Hodges? Why must Wendy love _the Key Killer's _Greg? Didn't she realize that she and Greg did not _go_ together? This thought often made the Key Killer frown, because the Key Killer was aware that Greg and Wendy _did_ go together, and it killed the Key Killer. Indeed, the Key Killer was sure that that one thought was the only thing that could possibly kill the Key Killer. Everything else the Key Killer _killed._

But the Key Killer was not frowning because of this thought. The Key Killer was frowning because, for the first time, the Key Killer did not know what to do next. The Key Killer enjoyed knowing that the Key Killer was, in fact, God in this situation. The Key Killer controlled all. Who died, who lived and what happened next was all in the Key Killer's hands. But now, God was unsure of how to solve a problem. How was the Key Killer to get rid of Wendy without getting rid of any chance at getting Greg as well? How?

A car rushed passed the Key Killer. It startled the Key Killer. Cars rarely went past the Key Killers hideout, especially this early at the morning. The Key Killer (who will, from this point on, be referred to as KK, simple because Key Killer is a mouthful to say) had an idea at that exact moment. _CARS!_ A car accident. No one would know. No one would suspect that it had _anything_ to do with KK. Wendy would be gone, and Greg would still be fine. No alarms. No strings. Well, one string. Of course, if this was to be a random accident, KK could not take any credit for the murder. It might not even be called a murder. A hit and run, instead. Not planned. KK was smiling now. KK was God, and God knew exactly what was going to happen next. KK would be victorious. And KK would get Greg. Oh, that was the best part. Indeed, it was.

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Wendy Simms hated the drive from her work to her apartment. Especially in the morning. Night in Vegas was like day anywhere else. Hundreds of people, always watching. You were rarely hurt in Vegas (if you were careful and not stupid, that is, but Wendy had by now figured out that even if you are careful and not stupid, you still needed luck to not get hurt in Vegas) at night. Morning was different. Especially early morning. No one was out, They were all nursing killer hangovers in their apartments. Wendy often found herself alone on the streets as she drove home from work.

But this morning was different, because Wendy Simms was not alone. She was _far_ from alone this morning.

It was one of those odd rainy mornings in Vegas. Vegas was in the middle of the desert, but it _did_ rain. And when it rained, it poured. And this morning it was pouring. As Wendy was driving down the street towards her home, she got lost in her thoughts. She often got lost in her thoughts when the streets were this empty. She usually thought of work, and today was no exception.

God, she hated work. Much as she wanted to be a CSI, she missed the lab in a way that she expected. She missed it like…well like a dog. A bad dog, really, one who bit her, and barked all night, and chased away her friends. A dog who she hated, and wanted to get rid of so badly. And yet, now that the dog is gone…there's a sort of emptiness. It was like the babies, who cried all night at Wendy's apartment. She hated when they cried, because they made her realize that she was _home._ That her grungy, tiny, lonely, ugly apartment was, in fact her home. That the dog who barked and bit her was her pet, even more than that, was her _family._ The DNA lab was Wendy's home, Wendy's family. And now Wendy was moving, and she was still getting used to her new surroundings. And when she was working, she would look across the hall, see her old lab, see the new lab tech, and want to cry. Wendy understood that if she ever left her apartment, she would miss the ugly wall color, and the caving in roof. She would miss the crying babies; she probably would not be able to sleep without them. She missed the one thing in the world she hated the most. And _GOD_ that annoyed her.

She also hated the people. Well, no, that wasn't right. She didn't hate the _people_; she hated the way they acted. Nick was always talking down to her, like she didn't understand what was happening. She had only been paired on a case with Nick once, and she did no work. Every time she offered to do _anything_ she was shut down. She couldn't even do her _old_ job; Nick insisted on running every piece of evidence himself. Nick clearly thought she was incompetent. It irked Wendy, because Wendy was sure that Nick had never treated Riley, or Greg, or Ray that way. Nick was positive that they knew what they were doing. Wendy was just to dumb to understand.

Which wouldn't have bothered Wendy so much, if it weren't for the fact the no one seemed to care. Wasn't it Catherine's freaking _job_ to care? Wendy knew that she wasn't used to the job yet, but Catherine could clearly see the way _everyone_ thought Wendy was. But, really, Wendy knew why. Wendy understood that everyone looked down upon her because none of them really _knew_ her. They had all _liked_ Greg when he made the change. None them, with Greg being the only exception (but even then, he didn't really know that much about her) cared about her. At all.

Which brought her to Greg. Somehow her thoughts always drifted to Greg. Wendy _hated _Greg. She hated Greg more than she hated anyone else. She hated Greg because she loved him. And he was so damn _OBLIVIOUS, _he just didn't see! He didn't see those sideways glances, or the way she always talked about their cases, or the way she always watched him when he left a room, or the way she talked about _him._ _HE WAS BLIND!!!_ Of course, Wendy understood that this wasn't the only possibility. The other one was just so much harder to face. The other one was that he _did_ see. He saw the glances, and he heard her talk, and the way she looked at him, looked _up_ to him. He saw, and he didn't return the feeling. He was trying to let her go easy. Wendy hated thinking that this was even possible. She loved her little world of denial. But Greg was a CSI. He saw so much; he saw _everything_. He just didn't care. He just didn't lov---

Wendy slammed the breaks. A horrid, screeching sound emitted from her car. The car spun around on the rain that was covering the streets. Wendy saw how out of it she had been; she hadn't even noticed it was raining. But she hadn't run a red light. The light was bright green. Someone else had run the light. She watched the car speed away, unable to read a license plate, or even a make or model. She was dumbfounded. How had she not heard the driver? Was she that zoned out? Wendy shook her head, and did a U-Turn. As she headed home, she thought only of her surroundings. Her thoughts of Greg and work were banished from her head. She hadn't understood how close she had come to dying. Dying was no longer scary, or mysterious to her. It was just something that happened. She couldn't know how close she had come to being a serial killers next victim. She couldn't know that she had almost been _murdered._

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They Key Killer drove farther down the road before turning into an alley and slamming the breaks. The Key Killer slammed his head against the steering wheel. She swore repeatedly. He had _missed _her. Wendy Simms had lived to see another day. Damn it!

The Key Killer sighed, rolling her eyes repeatedly. Naturally, naturally he _missed!!_ There had to be a way to get Wendy, there _HAD_ to be! The Key Killer sighed again. Then, and idea blossomed. Sam. Sam Friedman. That would be a way to get the CSI's attention.

The Key Killer burst into uncontrollable laughter. Oh, how _that_ would get their attention.

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Two hours later, a trucker who had pulled over to check a possible flat tire found a foot instead. He followed the rail of blood until he came to the source. The body of Sam Friedman was handcuffed to a lamppost. All of her organs were missing, except her heart. The trucker could tell this because the body of Sam Friedman was cut completely open, and a knife protruded out of the heart. Stapled to Sam Friedman's forehead was a note. _To find the key to how I am/ you must look inside. –Love KK. P.S. If this note you shall see/ say hi to Mr. Sanders for me._

The trucker began to scream. And as he screamed, only a few feet away, sitting in the same car that had nearly killed Wendy, the Key Killer laughed. Oh, how the Key Killer _laughed_.

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Note: Sheesh, I needed to update this story. I am so sorry. The past few weeks have been tech week for my play, and I've been so busy! I'm sorry that this chapter is a little shorter, but I promise more will happen soon.

Also, the switching of genders was on purpose. I called the Key Killer a man and a woman because I want the gender to remain a secret. I'd love to hear your opinions on who the Key Killer is! Please review!!


	5. Chapter 5

Riley Adams did not know she was alone. If she had known she was alone, perhaps, just perhaps, it would have all played out differently. But she did not know she was alone, she did not understand how much danger she was in. On her second, or maybe it was her third day in Vegas, Greg Sanders gave her a tip that she never forgot. _Never go to a crime scene alone, and if you do have to go alone, someone should know you are there. Otherwise you will die._ Riley had heard something about a beating, something before…about Greg being alone when he shouldn't have been. She always kept that information stored in the back of her mind. But right now she forgot it. She hadn't wandered far from the crime scene. Only a few feet. But the crime scene was just off a highway. And a few feet away was a desert. And no one could see her when she went into the desert.

She didn't love Greg. Wendy was wrong about that. Riley knew that Wendy thought that, because Riley was often cold to Wendy. Riley was cold to Wendy because Riley wasn't a fan of change. She hated when things changed, and Wendy was a change in Riley's life. But Riley _never _hated Wendy. And Riley _never_ loved Greg. Greg was like her brother; he was someone who watched over her, and she watched over him in return. But right now, no one was watching. She was alone.

She didn't know that the police officers at the scene couldn't see her. So she did what CSI's always do; she followed the evidence. She had seen a trail, a possible escape for the killer, and she followed it. She figured the Key Killer had wandered that way. She didn't know that the Key Killer was less than six feet away from her. She didn't know that she was about to wander into a trap.

Riley looked down at the ground and frowned. The trail stopped all of the sudden. _How bizarre._ She bent down to pick up a scrap of paper. She didn't photograph it beforehand. It wouldn't have made much of a difference, but who knows. It could have saved her life. Could have. But it didn't. As she opened the paper, her heart raced. It read: _Hello Ms. Adams/ it's great to see you here/ you're looking for a killer/ the killer's standing near/ I never meant to harm you/ I always wished you well/ but plans change after all/ I see you again in hell. Goodbye- The Key Killer._

Riley tried to stand, she tried to run, and she tried to scream. But she was too late. The Key Killer was behind her. Riley felt strong arms grab her, and she scrambled to break free of their grip. She did, somehow, and tumbled forward on hands and knees, trying to grab her cell phone, call someone, call _anyone_. She grasped it, but the arms were around her again. They pulled her to her feet. Riley tried to scream, but one hand left her arm and flew to her mouth. It was enough for Riley; she broke free of the other arm quickly. The Key Killer kicked the phone out of Riley's reach. A foot kicked Riley's ankle, causing her to trip onto the desert ground. She spun around, and her face saw the stars for a brief moment. A club swung down towards Riley's head, and Riley rolled, the blunt end just missing her skull. Riley got up and screamed bloody murder before the club found her again, against the back of her skull. Riley fell forward into the dirt. The Key Killer ran.

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Everyone was at the hospital, except for Greg. He hated hospitals, he always had. But that wasn't why. The reason was because it wouldn't help any. Riley was in a coma, she couldn't identify her attacker. By sitting in a hospital, Greg was wasting valuable seconds. Besides, the doctors said she would most likely pull through. No need to go. Greg sighed and poured back over the little evidence he had. It was useless, he knew. It wasn't like an episode of House, where someone would say one little thing, and the entire case would be solved by a magical epiphany. It was more like the second season of Lost, really. More questions, little answers. Greg sighed again. Footsteps. He didn't turn around. He didn't have to. Only one person wouldn't be at the hospital wasting time.

"Wendy." She stepped beside him, and leaned over his shoulder, stating at the case file. Neither one spoke for a few minutes. Greg hated when she was in a room and she didn't speak. It gave him time to be lost in his thoughts, and when she was around, he hated his thoughts. She loved him, he knew. _Everybody_ knew. He ignored her love, or tried to at least. He couldn't take it. His life was screwed up enough as it is, didn't she get it? Having her around made everything more complicated. It used to be simple; Greg would go to work, solve a case, go home, fake sleep, and start all over again. With her it suddenly became something else. Going to work was another chance to screw up, to say something he didn't mean, to let it slip that he loved her too. He _couldn't_ love her, because love screwed _everything_ up. Love made people do stupid things, love made people _hurt_. Greg hated love.

_Focus Sanders!_ His mind was yelling at him. _Great,_ he thought,_ now I'm going CRAZY too._ He shut his own mind up and turned to Wendy. "We're screwed aren't we? He—"

"Or she" Wendy interjected. Greg had the urge to roll his eyes, but he didn't.

"Or _she_ almost killed Riley." Wendy nodded gravely.

"On the plus side, there haven't been a lot of stalker notes lately." Greg sighed again. Of course there _had _been. They had been sent to Greg personally. Wendy knew that. They all knew it. But in Vegas, at night, you had to look on the bright side. Even if there wasn't one. Wendy picked up a photograph of Sam Friedman's dead body. She shuddered. "We couldn't find Sam for weeks, and the Key Killer finds her within a day?" Greg shrugged.

"Maybe they were friends?" Wendy looked at him.

"You think it was the stepmom?" Greg shook his head.

"No, she's too stupid." Wendy laughed. It was odd, to Greg. Even before the night shift he had always lived in darkness. Both of his parents were alcoholics, his dad killed himself when Greg was only twelve, his sister had died when she was three. He had never told anyone that. It didn't matter. It added to it, really. Everything added to the infinite darkness that surrounded him. He remembered every name, every date, every murder, and every rape. They all _added_ to the black cloud that engulfed him, and never, _never_ did anything subtract the darkness from that cloud. Greg belonged to the night, he lived in the night, he _was_ the night; and if he tried to deny that then he was only kidding himself, and once he was in denial there was nothing to stop him from putting a gun in his mouth and pulling the trigger, with that last delirious thought of _it can't hurt me_. _Nothing can HURT me! I'm already hurt! God can't break me down anymore! I AM BROKEN!!_ No one could stop Greg from living in his cloud, and no one had tried. His friends lived in the denial Greg feared most; the denial that told you everything was okay. The denial that made you think that nothing could change. Things change. _Everything_ changed. And those changes also added to Greg's darkness, to his night. They made it last forever. And, until the moment when Wendy laughed, nothing had made that night any lighter. It was that laugh, that laugh that had innocence, and love, but also fear, the type of fear of those changes that made night last forever, that made night seem to turn a little. That laugh that made Greg's infinite cloud into something…less definite. Greg's cloud kept him from feeling at home anywhere, and that laugh, so innocent, so pure, made Greg feel like he belonged _somewhere._ The question was, simply, where.

Greg shook the cloud off, and returned to focus. Wendy was looking at him with that look she got. The look of _you need to have a crazy idea right now so we can solve this case_ mixed in with _I know you can solve this, and even if you can't, I know you will try_. Greg hated that damn motivational look. He knew that when she gave him that look he would have to solve the case. If she believed in him, he could move a whole mountain. He nodded. "We need to talk to Stacy Friedman."

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Stacy Friedman was sobbing over an iced coffee from Starbucks, as Wendy and Greg attempted to get her to talk to them.

"Mrs. Fried-" Wendy began, before getting cut off by an overly dramatic sob.

"MY HUSBAND!!!! MY BABY!!!!! ALL GONE!!! WHYYYYYYYYYYYY???" Stacy was crying so hard that the coffee shop was shaking, and nearly everybody inside was staring at the group.

"Your baby? Funny, you hated her the last time we talked. Remember? When you were a suspect in your husband's murder? I remember. See, I seem to remember a comment about how she killed your husband to try and frame you. I remember that that feeling was mutual too. See, I think you killed your husband." Stacy Friedman looked up, horrified. She opened her mouth, but before she could say anything, Greg continued. "I think you murdered your husband, and out the key inside him to distract the police. I think the Key Killer was a copycat of your crime. I think that you _used_ the Key Killer to get rid of your stepdaughter, too. I—"

"You think I'm a MURDER? I couldn't…I never…I mean…I….no! No! No! No! No! I may have hated Sam but she was _all I had left!_ The money…it wasn't worth _anything!_ Sure I could _buy_ things, but…they couldn't _talk_ to me! When Jack…passed… he gave me a reputation! No one wants to talk to me, not my friends, not any men, not even my _family!_ Sam was _everything!_ I couldn't kill her because she was the only person who didn't think that I killed Jack!"

Wendy spoke up for the first time in a few minutes. "She didn't think you killed him?" Stacy looked like Wendy was crazy.

"She didn't think I was _smart _enough to kill him!"

"And she was right." Greg said matter-of-factly. "Your nothing more than a pathetic excuse for a human being, the acme of evolution. You've thoroughly wasted our time because you wanted attention. You aren't sad about your daughter dying. You don't care. You just want people to pay attention to you. But you're yesterday's news. Your fifteen minutes of fame are up. They aren't coming back. Sorry."

And with that, they left Stacy Friedman in the coffee shop, looking after them, with a look of utter confusion on her face.

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Before Greg and Wendy could get any farther, a new body turned up. Actually, three turned up. At the same time.

The first was a man named Otto Marx. He was a ninety-something year-old-man. A car hit him. The key came later. Catherine thought that the actual death may have been an accident, and that the person who hit him added the key in order to cover up the crime. Catherine was right, actually. But she didn't know that at the time, and she wouldn't know it for another week, when the person who really killed Otto Marx confessed.

It was the second and third bodies that really caused the city to scream. The second body was Hannah May. She was a fifteen-year old girl, killed with a simple gunshot wound to her head. She was shortish, and looked almost exactly like Sam Friedman.

The third body scared the CSI's. It made Wendy's heart race, and made Catherine vomit. They third body was a man named Frank Matthews. And he looked almost exactly like Greg. His face had been sliced repeatedly with a razor. His intestines had been removed and tied around his neck like a noose. Written all over his body in black sharpie was the words "I love Greg Sanders. I love Greg Sanders. I love Greg Sanders." A note was stapled to his forehead. "Roses are read/ violets are blue/ as you can tell/ I REALLY love you/ So run if you like/ hide anywhere/ I will still find you/ I simple don't care/ you can run/ but oh, you can't side. To find they key to how I am/ you must look inside. Love- KK."

No one knew what to do. Riley was hanging onto life by a thread. A serial killer was murdering people left and right. Greg was being stalked by said serial killer. They had no evidence. They had no leads. They had no suspects. They had _nothing._ Wendy was close to sobbing. It was awful. It was utterly awful. They had nothing.

They didn't know how close they were to finding out who the Key Killer was.

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Greg was getting mailed photos of himself everyday now. The entire staff of the Las Vegas Crime Lab was searching for any evidence they could find. Nick, Ray, Riley, Greg, and Catherine were checking all the old scenes. Wendy was rerunning every piece of evidence they had collected. It wasn't much. It wasn't enough. Two excruciating weeks passed without a body. Wendy knew that the Key Killer was letting it soak in. The last body was so frightening…so _real._ Wendy hated the word real. It made her think of a place where everything was false. Where everyone you loved lied to your face. She couldn't help but think that she was _in_ that place, and that the real world lived somewhere else…far from Las Vegas. Far from her.

In the meantime, Wendy was becoming more and more concerned for the well being of her coworkers. Not a single one of them had slept in two weeks. They were living off coffee and water. No food. No breaks. No sleep. They were each running strictly on their adrenaline and fear. Wendy was too she supposed. She was afraid of what she might find if she closed her eyes for more than a split second. She was afraid, crazily, really, that the Key Killer was _inside_ of her. That it was a figment of her imagination, which would haunt and torture her forever. In a way, Wendy was right.

Most serial killer's did not have faces until the very end. No one knew what he or she looked like, acted like, talked like. It was all a guessing game, really, and a different version of that serial killer lurked in each person's mind. They all saw something different, and impossible to explain. Wendy's version of the Key Killer had no face. Only a voice. Much like the God Wendy had believed in as a child.

When Wendy was younger, she used to pray. She would pray to a man, with a big, over-powering voice. He had no face. He had no name. He was her God, much as the Key Killer in her head was, currently, her God. Whenever Wendy wondered what would happen next the cynical, twisted, lurking voice of the non-existent Key Killer spoke. He told her that the worst things she could ever imagine were in store. He (the Key Killer in her mind was he, she was unsure of whether the real one was) would scare her so much she was afraid to think, afraid to dream, afraid to breathe. Every second that ticked by was another chance for him to appear out of the corners of her mind and take her, hold her captive to her own thoughts, and trap her in a bleak, and desolate reality. They had no idea who the Key Killer was. And the Key Killer was going to kill Greg. Eventually, the Key Killer was going to kill Greg. That thought scared Wendy more than anything else in the world.

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After two agonizing weeks of no bodies, one turned up. Peter Franks was a thirty-something year old temp at a paper company. He was much like the body of Frank Matthews. All over his body, in black sharpie, were the words "I love Greg Sanders, and he shall be mine. I love Greg Sanders and he shall be mine." Wendy was practically crying by the time she read the Key Killer's note.

"Eanie, meanie, miny, mo. Catch a killer by the toe. If he hollers, let him go. When he's gone he'll kill you so. Such a pain you'll never know. So you never let him go. But if you can't find him, it matters not so. I am winning, this I know. You'll never find me, that's how it will go. Eanie, meanie, miny, mo."

Wendy was so close to the Key Killer. She did not know. She could not know.

They left her alone at the crime scene. She was scared of the Killer. She was afraid of every noise she heard. So the Key Killer was quiet. _Very_ quiet.

Wendy thought she heard a noise. She whipped around. But before she could see her attacker, something hard hit her head.

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Wendy blinked twice. Her mind was hazy, and she had no idea where she was. She tried to move. No use. She was bandaged to the table, which was made of a cold, hard metal. She shivered. She suddenly realized that she was not alone. There was a shadow standing in the doorway. The shadowed moved toward her, walking into the florescent light. Wendy's eyes widened. She was petrified.

"Y….you." The shadow smiled. And then they held up a knife. Wendy Simms screamed.

The scream was a mix of both horror and shock. She couldn't believe it. She _couldn't _believe it.

The Key Killer was….her _sister?_

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A/N: THE KEY KILLER"S IDENTITY HAS BEEN REVEALED! But this story is _far_ from over. Next chap up soon!


	6. Chapter 6

Greg Sanders walked up to Peter Frank's crime scene, which was now Wendy Simms' crime scene. He walked with a bizarre feeling of calmness, a feeling that he did not entirely disagree with. A live victim. That was what Catherine had said. Wendy wasn't dead, as far as they knew. He felt calm. He felt as if everything was going to be okay. He felt the calmness that he hated the most. The denial that told you that everything would be all right. It wouldn't. Greg knew this before he had even stepped foot into the actual house, before he had seen the scene, before he met the Key Killer, before _everything_. He knew that no matter what happened, nothing would be all right. It didn't matter. _Nothing mattered._ There was nothing Greg could do to change this, nothing he could say, and no moves he could make to change what was going to happen. His sense of calm came from this fact. He couldn't screw up. He was already screwed.

He went inside the house where they had found Peter Franks. He looked around the walls. Nothing special. The kicker was upstairs. Upstairs is where the body was. Upstairs was where Wendy was when the Key Killer found her. Wendy had only seen the body and the note. By the time her sister had thrown her in the car and driven her to the secret location, the room had underwent a bit of a makeover. Every picture of Greg that Alyssa Simms, better known as the Key Killer, had sent to the crime lab, and even some ones she hadn't (Greg's personal favorite was one of him and Wendy interviewing Stacy Friedman) were pasted on the wall, ceiling to floor. Written all over the pictures were the words "48 hours before the girl has died/ to find the key to how I am/ you must look inside."

Catherine was there when Greg arrived. She sighed as Greg looked around the room. "At least we know that she's alive." Greg looked at Catherine as if she crazy.

"No, actually, we don't. Sure the Key Killer is _saying_ that Wendy is alive, but we don't know where the hell Wendy actually _is!_ Wendy could already be dead. We don't know. This-" Greg gestured around the room, "This is all just a very pretty, very scary show that the Key Killer wants us to watch. He-" Greg immediately thought of the conversation between him and Wendy only a few days before "Or she, just wants us to run around like chickens with our heads cut off for two days while we slowly let them slip through our fingers until Wendy is dead, and we have a brand new pile of bodies, and still no _God damn ANSWERS!_" Catherine seemed to shrink into her skin like a turtle shrinks into its shell.

"I was just trying to be optimistic" she said flatly, as if optimism would make everything better. Greg walked out of the room, past her.

"Screw optimism. What we need is answers"

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Alyssa Simms was not a generally happy person. There were few times in her life that she felt joy, and even those times were ruined by the people she hated most, her parents, her daughter, her ex-husband, her sister. Wendy ruined everything for Alyssa. Alyssa wasn't the most academically brilliant student, so naturally Wendy was a straight A student. The boys Wendy brought home were kind and sweet and funny and nice, whereas Alyssa tended to go for motorcycle riding tattoo artists. Wendy graduate college, one of the best in her class, while Alyssa never made it to college and got knocked up by one of her boyfriends. That bastard child became a living terror to Alyssa, believe you me. In fact, it was that child that later became Alyssa's first kill. Although she was really an accident. She should have known better than to stand in the driveway waiting for her mother. She should have known Alyssa would be drunk. Alyssa was always drunk. But that stupid girl stood there anyway, and she was so _god damn short_ that Alyssa couldn't see her _anyway_ so of course she _hit _her. She should have known better. She was five after all. Weren't five year olds supposed to be smart?

Wendy made her parents hate Alyssa. Wendy made all of Alyssa's boyfriends hate Alyssa. Wendy made Greg Sanders hate Alyssa. Alyssa, in return, hated Wendy. So of course she jumped at the opportunity to kill Wendy. But even someone as stupid as Alyssa knew better than to kill Wendy. Wendy needed to be handled with correctly. Otherwise no one would care. As Alyssa stood over her sister, watching as Wendy slowly gained , and realized who had been torturing her for all these weeks, Alyssa found sweet satisfaction. Her sister would finally suffer. _She already had._

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Wendy felt like someone had just stabbed her with an ice pick. Her sister. _Her sister_ was a _murder_ a _stalker_ a _monster._ And now she had Wendy. Wendy couldn't speak, couldn't say anything. Then there was pain. God there was _pain_. Wendy looked down. He saw her right leg where the pain was coming from. Then she saw her right foot. Or, more appropriately, her lack thereof. Her foot was gone. Just gone.

"My foot." She murmured. Alyssa smiled. Wendy looked up in her eyes. She screamed. "My _FOOT! MY FOOT IS GONE! YOU CRAZY BITCH!" _Wendy was screaming and sobbing. Her foot. Her foot. Her foot. "Who _ARE_ you? Who _ARE YOU! WHO ARE YOU?!_ _MY FOOT! MY FOOT!"_

Alyssa was grinning from ear to ear now. She titled her head to the side, making Wendy feel like one of Hannibal Lecter's victims. Wendy swallowed.

"See, sister dear, that's the very best part. I chopped your foot off in _just the right place_ so that you slowly bleed to death. In a few hours your mind will be nothing but a haze, and an hour or two after that you won't have enough blood to _operate _your pathetic little _brain._ You will be dead. I gave the cops 48 hours to find you but, let's face this little fact dear sister, they won't even know _where to start._ So I hope you have fun while you bleed to death. Oh slowly but surely _you will die._ It's going to be so much fun!" With that Alyssa walked out of the room, switching off the lights as she left. Wendy had nothing left to do but scream. And, oh did she screamed. But what use is screaming when no one can hear you?

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46 hours until Wendy Simms "dies":

Greg Sanders was driving away from the LVPD Crime Lab, though he personally would have been more comfortable inside their doors. Catherine needed him to leave, as he had been working on about 6 minutes of sleep in the past week. Riley had waken from her coma. Someone needed to interview her. Greg was that person. Great.

Greg pulled into Desert Palm just as the clock struck 8 AM. 46 hours. He stopped that train of thought just as it came into his head. Focus. Riley might know who the Key Killer was.

As it turns out "awake" was a very loose term for what Riley was. She was out of her coma, but she was barely lucid. Greg struggled to get anything from her at all.

"You don't remember _anything?" _Greg asked. He was feeling exasperated. This was going nowhere. He was wasting time. Wendy was captive somewhere, _dying_ somewhere, _dead_ somewhere. He needed to know _where._ He needed to know who had her. He _needed _know or he might go insane.

Riley looked at him. Her eyes were glazed slightly, more than most likely from the morphine. She smiled a semi-smile. "Hi Greg!" She quelled like a four year old. That was it. Greg had snapped.

"Riley _snap out of it! _What do you remember? _Who attacked you?"_ Riley's smile faded. She tried to think.

"I….I don't remember."

"What did he look like? Anything?" Riley looked at him with a look of utter confusion.

"He? I…I think it was a….girl?"

The Key Killer was female?

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45 hours until Wendy Simms "dies":

Just as Wendy's sister brought an axe down on her foot, Greg, Catherine, Nick, and Ray we're combing through all their evidence for _anything_ leading to a female. Nothing. Zip. Zero. Nada. Catherine was near her breaking point.

"Jesus _Christ!_" Catherine screamed as she threw the case file on the floor. "Nothing! _Nothing at all!_" Greg sighed. There had to something. _Something._

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44 and ½ hours until Wendy Simms "dies":

As Wendy woke up to the shock of her sister being a murder and her foot simply being gone, Greg walked up to a cheap house in West Las Vegas. It was here the Freidman's maid worked. It was the only lead they had, and it wasn't really a lead at all. The maid had claimed Jack Friedman was having an affair. There was no proof. No description. Nothing. But it was better than the nothing that they had in the Crime Lab. So Nick and Greg went to go talk to the maid.

"So, now you believe me!" The short woman with a Brooklyn accent said as she answered the door. Greg remembered the interview with the maid well. She had said that the only reason she had gotten the job was because Stacey Friedman was afraid a Latino or Black maid would steal her stuff. If Greg thought he knew what the meaning of the word 'ignorant' was, Stacey Friedman brought it to a whole new level. The slim woman led Greg and Nick through her house, which, ironically, was filthy. As if to answer their unasked question she laughed. "I spend all my time cleaning their house, I have no energy to clean my own!" They sat down on a couch that was covered with old copies of _Vouge_ magazine. "So, what do you want to talk about? The affair?" Greg and Nick nodded.

She went on to waste another hour of Greg's life with a whole lot of nothing. She basically said she _thought_ she saw a woman who _might_ have been tall, but also _could_ have been short, and who was brunette, but was _maybe _a blonde, or _possibly_ a redhead, sneaking out of Jack Friedman's room. Greg sighed. Nothing. Still nothing.

Nick tried to smile. "Anything else?" The woman shook her head, before pausing. "What?" Nick asked.

"There was something. I thought I heard her say a name. Something about someone…named Wendy. Does that mean anything to either of you?"

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43 and ½ hours until Wendy Simms "dies":

Greg found himself looking through Wendy's file as Wendy finally stopped screaming.

"It says here Wendy had a sister, but she's listed here as dead. It that right?" Greg was talking to Wendy's parents, who had flown in once they learned about their daughter.

"Yes….well, we think. We never saw her body. Her husband notified us of her death, saying she and her daughter, she was five, we're killed in a car accident."

"But you don't know if she's dead?" Greg was shocked. How had they missed this?

"Well….why would he lie to us?"

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43 hours until Wendy Simms "dies":

Wendy heard a noise. Her sister entered the room.

"What is it? Who's there?" Alyssa smiled at her sister.

"Good news Wendy, you're boyfriend just showed up. This is going to be fun!"

Greg was here? Wendy was shocked, and then saddened. Because that meant that he was going to die too.

That was when she heard the first gun shot.

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Note: Erm…okay. I'm sorry. I've neglected this story for over a month. I was busy! Well…kind of. Okay okay okay I was avoiding it! But no worries, I have it all mapped out, and hopefully I will get the next few chapters done soon. Thanks to all of you who've stuck around! I hope you enjoy!


	7. Chapter 7

How Greg came to find the house where the key killer resided was not entirely by accident, nor was it entirely by fate. Both of those things did contribute however. It was fate that Alyssa Simms was not the brightest bulb, and therefore her "death certificate" was easily deemed fake by the Crime Lab's expert. It was fate that there had been a murder just three blocks away from where Alyssa was keeping her sister. It was an accident, or perhaps fate, depending on how you looked at it, that the man who killed the people residing in the house only three blocks away from Alyssa's hide out had left a trail of blood leading in that direction. It was not fate, nor accident, but, in fact, well thought out planning that the blood trail stopped directly in front of Alyssa's house.

In fact, most of what Alyssa did was well thought out, including killing the man who killed Alyssa's neighbors, therefore causing Greg to knock on her door, bringing him directly to her. However, some of what happened was accidental. For instance, her actually _becoming_ the Key Killer was not exactly planned beforehand.

Alyssa Simms and Jack Friedman met in a bar during a private party that one of Jack's friends had been hosting. Stacey Friedman naïvely thought that when she went out, Jack stayed home. Jack hated the people Stacey socialized with. He opted for a group of his own. Alyssa had snuck into the party to pull her usually routine. Seduce a rich married man, tape of video of them, then threaten to send the tape to their wives (who had very nice deals in the pre-nups, usually) unless she was paid a heft price. They usually bowed. It was pulling this scheme that landed her with Jack Friedman.

Jack was extremely drunk when they met. The rich men usually were. As Alyssa slid casually into her seat she realized who the man she was about to blackmail was. She was extremely upset with her decision, as she knew of Jack Friedman's money troubles. She was about to leave when Jack spoke.

"Yeah, go ahead and leave. They all leave." Alyssa stopped, and looked at him. Then she sat back down, not because she really wanted to, but because she realized that the look in his eyes was not the look of a sane man. Instead it was the look of a man who would, at any minute, lunge out and strike her. It was a look that scared her very much. So she sat. He then went on to talk, a _lot,_ about his family, his horrible daughter, his self-centered wife, his money troubles, _everything._ It was then that Alyssa realized _exactly_ how she could make this into the perfect murder. Who would suspect her, a stranger?

The only reason her mind jumped to murder is because Jack mentioned the death of his own sister, and how he had felt no remorse at her death. Alyssa suddenly remembered that her sister had gotten a promotion. To CSI. The people who investigated murders. And as she pretended to listen to Jack Friedman, she plotted out her plan. It wasn't too complex at first. She would kill Jack Friedman, frame his stepdaughter, find her sister, and kill her sister, end of story. Only, it got much more complicated as time went by.

As she kicked Jack Friedman down his own stairs, breaking his neck and sending him to his death, she noticed something. She noticed a security camera. A security camera that was _on_, recording her every move. She moved covertly, easily finding the security room, and discovering the tape. She replaced it with a black tape, which the CSI's noticed of course, but really could do nothing about. They had no idea where the real tape had gone. Alyssa had hidden it in the safe that no one knew about. Jack had mentioned it in his drunken rant. It didn't take her long to find the key that unlocked it. After she raided it (there wasn't much, and certainly nothing worth _stealing_, though she was stupid enough to actually have stolen if she wanted to) she stored the tape in there, and locked the safe. She still needed a place to store the key, however. She discovered a large, rather sharp knife in the kitchen, which was when the Key Killer was truly born.

She had no intention, at first, of becoming a serial killer. Her serial killer idea was born when she first met Greg Sanders. Well, she never actually _met_ him, but she met him in spirit. It was love at first sight. At least for her. It was when she had fallen in love that she realized she wanted to keep seeing him, _needed_ to keep seeing him. So she kept on killing.

It wasn't hard for her. She had no emotional attachment to her victims. They were random people, stupid people. They were nobody. No one would miss them. Just like no one would miss her sister. Because the only person who would was going to die with her.

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Greg approached the house where the blood trail stopped and immediately suspected something. He smelled something. He smelled the smell he would never forget, the one that would haunt him no matter how long he lived. The smell of something decaying. Of something _human_ decaying.

He approached the dumpster where the decaying smell was coming from. He shouldn't have been alone. He should have known this. He thought about getting Nick, but hesitated. Something inside his gut told him that he was just going to get Nick into a whole lot of trouble. Greg opened the dumpster and saw exactly what was decaying. A foot. A human foot. To be more specific, Wendy Simms' foot. But Greg didn't know that. Not at the time at least.

Greg looked at the house. He walked up to the front door, and pulled out his gun. He knew, _knew_ that is was exactly how Riley had ended up in her coma. She was alone. But he had a feeling that bringing someone here was just going to screw him over even more. So he stayed alone. He knocked on the door.

He knew immediately where he was when he saw who opened the door. She looked exactly like Wendy. Maybe two, three years, but the same black hair, the same eyes. There was no doubt in his mind that this was Alyssa Simms. Even worse, he knew from the look in her eyes that she knew who _he_ was. She smiled, and Greg saw the major difference between Wendy and her sister; Alyssa Simms was undoubtedly, and completely crazy.

"Mr. Sanders." She smiled that eerie smile, and stepped inside so he could enter after her. He didn't. He knew better. Her smile didn't fade. "I suppose you followed the blood trail didn't you? Yes, I suppose you did. There was a _reason_ it ended here Mr. Sanders. Or can I call you Greg? I know you've only just met me, but it feels like I've known you for…well, forever! So, Greg, oh, where was I? Silly me, so forgetful! Oh, yes, the blood trail. Well, you see, when I saw the very bloody Mr. Stevens, he murdered my neighbors, stopped by my door to dump his clothes he looked in my dumpster. I'm sure you've already seen my dumpster, there's more to that, just wait. Anyway, when he looked there, and I saw your car, I knew, _knew_ this was my opportunity, so I just _had_ to meet you! So, of course, I killed him!" Her smile didn't fade. Not even a little bit. Greg shuddered. "Well, Greg, you can say I was-"

"My number one fan?" She beamed. "You fucking creep."

"Oh yes. Misery.__I know you liked that book. I've read 17 times!" She broke into a neurotic laughter. "Please, you mustn't just _stand_ there! Someone will spot you!" He stayed where he was. Her smiled finally faded. "Of course, there's no one stopping you from staying there. Or calling for help. But, Mr. Sanders…_Greg_, you need to understand that if you do that, your little friend, my sister, she won't make very long. You see…well, never mind. I want to show you!" Greg stayed. Her voice turned forceful. "_Come in Mr. Sanders." _

Greg saw in her eyes that she was not going to rest until he entered her door. Even if that meant killing Wendy. Even if it meant killing Greg. Even if it meant killing every person in the entire universe. He walked in.

"Please Greg, won't you put away that gun? It…frightens me so that you don't _trust_ me." Greg kept the gun out. She was losing her patience was him. Greg wasn't sure if that was good or bad. "_Put the gun away." _Greg still didn't. She walked towards him, shaking her head. "Greg, if you don't put it away, I'm going to have to _take_ it from you." She talked to him as if he were a child. Greg still kept the gun out. At this point, he was curious as to what she would do. What she did was this: she leapt out at him, suddenly, grabbed the gun, and tried to force it away from him. Greg resisted, and the resistance caused the gun to go off. Both of them stammered away at the same time, and the gun landed at Alyssa's feet. She grabbed it and pointed it a Greg. She looked as if she might fire it, but Greg knew she wouldn't. She hesitated, before smacking him with the butt of the gun. Everything went black.

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When Greg woke up, he found he was tied to a chair. He was inches away form Wendy, who appeared to have been knocked out with…something. The second thing he noticed was the blood. He followed the blood, until he saw the source. The foot. Jesus Christ the foot.

"See? I knew it was worth it to show you!" Alyssa appeared behind him. Greg looked at her. She smiled. Again with the smile. The _freaking_ smile. "So, Mr. Sanders, I suppose you want to know what I'm going to do, huh?" Greg didn't respond, so she continued, as if he had enthusiastically nodded and said yes. "Well, your girlfriend here is bleeding to death. Slowly. _Very slowly._ And you, well, you I'm going to keep. I'm going to _make you watch her die._ Her and all the others. All the other victims, Mr. Sanders, their last moments will be witness by you and me. And then Greg, when I'm done, when I've killed all I can kill, I'm going to slowly flood this house with water and carbon monoxide. I don't care which one kills you, or me. But one of them will. That's all that matters." She laughed again. Greg felt his heart turn to ice. "Goodbye big sister. I'll see you soon Greg." And with that she walked out the door.

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Greg Sanders was reported missing only 25 minutes after he had walked away. Catherine and Nick rushed to the scene immediately, both of them assuming the worst. In a way, they were right. The Key Killer did have Greg. He wasn't dead yet. In fact, he had only just waken, after getting hit with the gun. Alyssa had had the time to clean the blood. Now there was nothing. No way of finding Greg. Except, of course, for the smell.

It was a police officer name Marquez who first smelled the decay. Catherine and Nick arrived at the house. They knocked on the door. No answer. They knocked again. "LVPD open up!" Brass yelled. Nothing. They beat the door open.

What they did not realize was that Alyssa had had the time to rig the door. The instant it opened, it fired a gun. Catherine was struck twice. The door slammed shut. Brass tried again. The door was locked. In fact, the door now had a cement barricade against it. Alyssa was moving the bricks into place. She yelled upstairs to Mr. Sanders. "Looks like your friends are here! Too bad, I was having so much fun! Oh well. Say goodbye!" Everyone outside heard. Of course they had. That was the point. Nick banged on the door, but there was no way in. No other entrances. One-way in, one-way out.

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Greg knew one thing about Alyssa Simms. She couldn't tie knots very well. It didn't take him long to break loose of his bondage. He was listening to Catherine get shot. He ignored it. He needed to focus on Wendy. He needed to escape. Wendy smiled at him, her eyes getting hazed over. She had lost a lot of blood. She wasn't going to last much longer.

He untied her form the table as Alyssa walked in. He could hear her click her tongue against the roof of her mouth. "Greg, Greg, Greg. You should've known better. Trying to escape? Shame on you." She walked towards him, shaking her head. "Now, I think I have to kill you. What a shame. I hadn't planned on that. That and you tipped off your little friends. Greg, Greg, Greg. What am I going to _do_ with you?" Greg turned around to face her.

"First off, you _psycho, _I didn't tip off my friends. The _foot_ in your _dumpster _tipped them off. And secondly, you were _already_ planning to kill me. And her. And don't think for _one second_ that I will let you do that. I am _not_ going to lay down and die."

She smiled, but this time Greg saw that the smile was not as strong, not as sure. She was losing confidence. He liked that. It also scared him though. He didn't want her to lose her confidence. If she did, she might start changing. He didn't want her to be unpredictable. "I never thought that you were going to lay down and die, Greg. Not like _her._" She gestured to Wendy, who was still lying, partially tied, to the table. "She was so _easy_. I knew you would put up a fight Greg. I _hoped_ you would."

"LVPD! Open the _damn_ door!" Both of them ignored the desperate cry of Brass.

"Greg, I sincerely wish that this could last longer. It just _can't_. Not anymore. I'm sorry." She pulled what appeared to be a remote control out of her pocket. With the push of a button it started to rain. _Inside._ Greg suddenly remembered what she had said. Water. Drowning. She was about to push a second button ("carbon monoxide") when Greg lunged at her, knocking the remote out of her hand. He crushed the remote beneath her foot, and looked at her. For the first time ever he saw fear in her eyes.

"_I am not going to die! You understand this you crazy bitch; I am not going to die! And neither is she!"_

Alyssa backed up. The water was already to her ankles. "N…now…now Greg… let's be reasonable here."

"_Reasonable! Reasonable? You want me to be reasonable? You're the serial killer! You're the one threatening to DROWN me here! You want ME to be reasonable?!" _

Alyssa was noticeably frightened. She turned around, and ran as fast as she could (which wasn't very fast, the water was rising quickly) towards a drawer. _My gun._ The thought passed through Greg's mind immediately. _That's where she has my gun. My LOADED gun._ He ran after her. He reached around for the first thing he could grab. Turned out it was a pipe. He wasted no time. He quickly smacked her in the back of the head. She let out a scream and fell. She stayed on the ground. Greg tried to open the drawer. Locked. He flipped around her keyring, before grabbing the entire thing and heading back to Wendy.

"Greg. What happened?" Her eyes were drooped. He could tell that she was almost gone. She was nodding in and out of consciousness. He finished untying her before lifting her off the table. He made a makeshift bandage out of some cloth lying around, and immediately tried to cut off as much circulation as possible to the foot. It wouldn't be enough, not for long at least. He picked her up and walked out. The water was up to his shins now. They didn't have much time. He knew the front door was out of the option. He could see that she had barricaded it.

He looked for other exits. There weren't any. "Dammit!" Greg looked around for nearly five minutes before he found it. The window. The _only _window. It was locked. Greg looked around. "Wendy…_Wendy!_" Her eyes drooped open. She smiled. "I'm going to set you down, okay? There's water on the ground. You _cannot_ get your leg wet, okay?" Wendy nodded. Greg set her down. She listened and kept her leg up. Greg ran back to where he had knocked Alyssa out. She still lay there. He picked up the pipe.

"Wendy, I'm going to break this window okay? And then we are going to leave. _You cannot scream_. Alyssa is _not _dead. The slightest sound could wake her, okay? Everything is going to be alright." Wendy nodded again, although she didn't look as if she necessarily believed him. Greg hit the window with the pipe twice before it shattered. He picked up Wendy, and crawled through the window. Greg suddenly realized that they weren't outside. He had found another room. A room filled with keys. Floor to ceiling, keys, keys, keys. And more photos. Not of Greg, though. These photos where of the victims, just before they died. The look of fear. The look of pain. Greg shuddered.

The door. He needed to find a door. There was one door at the end of the room. It opened to a tunnel. Greg was losing hope by the second. Wendy was fading, and fast. Alyssa could wake up any minute. He needed to find out. He walked down the tunnel, Wendy still in his arms. The tunnel seemed to go on forever. He finally reached the end. Another door. _"Another freaking door!"_

Wendy looked up. "Greg, I'm tired. I don't think I can do this anymore." Greg looked down at her.

"Just a few more minutes…please Wendy just….just hold on." Wendy looked at him. She nodded. Greg opened the door. _Please be outside please be outside please be outside._

The door opened. They we're outside.

And they we're miles away from house. From Catherine, and Nick, and Brass. From the cops. They we're in the middle of nowhere. And then came the voice.

"Greg, Greg, Greg. I knew you wouldn't die so easily. But do you have to make this so hard?"

Greg turned around to face Alyssa. She was holding his gun. And smiling.

"Goodbye Greg."

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Note: Okay, so I felt _so bad_ about the time in between the fifth and sixth chapters that I've decided to be kind and post this one a little early. The next chapter will be up next Monday _I swear_. So please enjoy this chapter. And please review!


	8. Chapter 8

Seven hours after Alyssa Simms pointed a gun at Greg Sanders and bid him goodbye, Nick Stokes sat in a room, attempting to explain Alyssa's actions. Most of them he could explain. The only one he couldn't was the water. Why would a person like Alyssa, who was not as stupid as she appeared, waste so much time with such an overly thought plan? She wanted to drown _and_ suffocate Greg? It was nonsensical. But, as always, there was a reason.

However, this reason was not as obvious as the others. It had to do with something irrational. It had to do with fear. Fear was something Alyssa hated, because there was no escape from it. However, it meant that, for Greg Sanders, there was no escaping either.

When Alyssa when ten years old, she was called "Unlucky" by the cruel classmates she spent her days with. There was a reason for this. Alyssa had no friends in middle or high school. But in grade school, she had two friends. Elizabeth and Rachel. Their last names had long since escaped Alyssa. But Elizabeth and Rachel were Alyssa's good friends, her best friends, her _only_ friends. She loved them like any child loves their friends. But Alyssa was unlucky. Where she went, death went too.

Elizabeth was twelve when she severed all ties with Alyssa. By this time, Rachel was dead. Rachel's death had been called an accident, but many kids in Alyssa's class claimed that Alyssa killed Rachel. Alyssa _hadn't_ killed Rachel actually; really Rachel killed Alyssa, because, by dying, Alyssa was cast to the outside of her class.

Rachel had died by water. It was a class trip, to a forest preserve. Everyone was on a nature hike when Rachel decided to wander off by herself. Frankly, Rachel was not the brightest bulb. But people refused to believe this. They believed Alyssa had snuck off with Rachel. She hadn't. She was with Elizabeth. But Elizabeth refused to confirm it.

Rachel had walked down a path that had been closed. Rachel's parents later sued the park for not properly marking the path as closed. They won over two million dollars. There had been some flooding recently in that area of California, and it had weakened the ground near the edge of the river. The ground broke, and Rachel fell in. The current took her away.

Elizabeth was no longer talking to Alyssa by the time she had died. It was carbon monoxide (no surprise there) that had taken her life. It had also taken the lifer of her mother, father, and older brother. Her dog lived.

As if being pinned for Rachel's death wasn't enough, being blamed for Elizabeth's was even worse. But, besides, isolating her from everyone she knew (except for the few freaks who knocked her up), it also planted fear in her. Fear that she, too, would die before her time. It was a fear that she found ridiculous. It was a fear that she shared with many other people. It was a fear that, in the long run, would lead her to her attempts to kill Greg Sanders. She knew what her friends must have felt before they died. Fear. Knowing. Knowing they were going to die. (Of course, Elizabeth didn't know she was going to die, but Alyssa refused to believe this.) She knew that that knowing could have killed Greg Sanders in itself.

When later asked why the water and carbon monoxide, when she had Greg's gun right next to her, Nick Stokes would say this.

"I guess…I mean…I don't really know. I think that a part of her, a big part of her, is just…pure crazy. I mean, I don't think she sees what we see. I don't think she feels what we feel. I think that reality is very…different to her. I think she isn't really sure what…exactly…is what. I suppose she thought…no. No she must have _known_ that it wouldn't kill Greg quickly. I don't think she _wanted_ to kill Greg quickly. I don't really think she wanted to kill him at all.

"I think she liked it. The cat and mouse game, I mean. I think that she like when Greg fought her. I think she liked watching him struggle against her. She obviously thought it was in vain. I don't think it was have…_satisfied_ her if she had just shot him. She needed him to escape. She needed him to fight. Because otherwise the game would be over. I don't think she wanted the game to end. If she could have gotten her way, I bet she would have just… kept on playing. Forever.

"So, to answer your question, I think that Alyssa Simms didn't _want _to kill Greg Sanders. She wanted to kill his _sprit_. She wanted him to fight and fight and fight until…until he just _couldn't_ anymore. I think she wanted him to _know_ that he was going to die. I think she wanted him to try and stop that. And I know…I _know_…that she wanted him to fail. She wanted him to die. On the inside, and the out."

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"Goodbye Greg."

The gun went off. Greg felt the bullet penetrate his shoulder. He dropped Wendy. She didn't make a sound. She lay there on the group, limp. Alyssa smiled. She had won.

Greg backed up. He had no idea where he was. No idea where his friends were. No idea…of _anything_. He felt lost. He felt empty. He was going to die. He knew this. And in that aspect, Alyssa Simms had won again. Greg tipped. She held the gun up to his head as he scrambled backward.

At that point, in the deep hollow trench that was supposed to be her heart, or soul, or whatever but was instead a black hole that the Earth could have fit into, something stirred. It was not a sense of fear, or of love. It was a sense of loss. She realized that the game she loves so very dearly, the days she had spent murdering, and plotting, and watching people suffer, the things that she enjoyed _so much_ was coming to an end. In fact, the moment she pulled the trigger that her finger was resting on, the game was over. The second Greg Sanders died Alyssa Simms had lost. Of course, she had actually _won_, because she had gotten exactly what she wanted; she had killed her sister and Greg. But to Alyssa, winning would have been impossible. Winning would have been if the game could last forever. It couldn't. She knew that. So, for just a second, she hesitated. She didn't want the game to end. Slowly, she lowered the gun. Greg looked up.

"Greg, how would you like to live?" Greg looked at her like she was out of her mind. She probably was. She smiled that smile that made Greg shudder. "How would you like to live? You heard me. I…I can give you the right to live. All you have to do is join me." His eyes flashed. He understood. She went on anyway. "You see, I'm not the _strongest_ of people, so I could use a little….help, would you call it? Yes, help. Someone who could…assist me with my….well, let's be frank, kills. Someone who could hold the victims, or hide the bodies…just a little assistant really. You do that for me, and in exchange I let you live."

Greg shook his head. "You psycho." He stood facing her. She immediately grabbed the gun, realizing her mistake. He didn't move toward her, but she moved a bit back. The gun was right in-between them. "You think that _you_ control who lives and who dies? You think I would murder people for you? When are you going to understand this? _I don't care about my life._ If you want me dead, kill me. _I. Don't. Care._" She was suddenly very afraid of the look in his eyes. He looked like he could murder her with his bare hands. Worse, he looked like he _would_ murder her with his bare hands. She pulled the trigger.

Greg fell backward. She noticed a cliff, a few feet off. He was still alive. She knew that a cliff would end him. Forever. She grabbed his feet, still keeping the gun in her pocket, and dragged him towards the cliff. He went. He wasn't breathing. She dropped his feet and looked at him. He appeared dead. She decided to throw him over, just in case.

As she approached the cliff, she passed a large pile of rocks. She dropped Greg's legs and peered over the cliff. It was a long way down, to a deep valley. Anyone who fell would not be getting out. She smiled. _Perfect._

What happened next was something that even Nick found hard to believe.

As Alyssa Simms looked over the edge of the valley, as Greg Sanders hung on to life by a thread, and as the first drops of rain began to fall in the desert, Wendy Simms crawled over to the pile of rocks. She pulled herself upward, and did something that is incredibly difficult with only one foot. She stood.

Well, really she leaned against the rocks. But still impressive.

She used both hand to heave up a rock, maybe the size of her head. And as she looked at her sister, and lifted the rock, she felt a surge of anger.

"You crazy manipulative _bitch_." Alyssa Simms spun around, grabbing for her gun. But a second, by a _fraction_ of a second, Wendy beat her. She threw the rock; with so much force that Wendy herself fell forward. The rock hit Alyssa square in the chest. She tumbled backwards, over the cliff. And with her last breath, Alyssa said something that Wendy would never forget, no matter how long she lived.

" Now you are a murder! _Just like me!_" And she laughed all the way to the bottom of the valley.

Wendy crawled over to Greg. She lay down on his chest just as it started to pour. As overly clichéd as the rain was, Wendy didn't mind it. She began to cry. She thought of what her sister had said to her, about her being a murderer. She wondered if it was true. Her sister was dead. Wendy had killed her. Didn't she deserve to die? Did _anyone_ deserve to die?

As the police sirens wailed towards their location, as everything faded to black, Wendy wondered what was going to happen next. Then she understood something that shocked her. She didn't really care.

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2 Years Later

Wendy awoke with a fright.

She grasped the sheets around her, desperately trying to find _something_, although she was not entirely sure what. She looked around. Her apartment. Her room. Her bed. She let go of the sheets and laid back down on the bed, still breathing heavily.

She had been having a dream. _That_ dream. The one where she tossed her rock at her sister, and she said the words _those _words ("_You are a murder!" Even now they rang through Wendy's head)_, but instead of simply falling, the rock went through her. Alyssa stayed standing, staring, laughing, and Wendy was pulled away from the scene, called a murder, thrown in jail. And that laugh. That laugh continued to ring throughout the dream.

She looked at her TV. She still remembered the news report she had taped the night after the whole incident, the one she kept until just a few months ago.

"Tonight, a bizarre story out of Las Vegas. Alyssa Simms, 34, better known as the Key Killer to Las Vegas residents, is now being officially declared _missing_ by the Las Vegas Police Department. Simms' story came to a bizarre end outside this house in Vegas, where Simms was reported to be living. It was here that she attempted to claim her two final victims, her sister, Wendy Simms, and the man she had been stalking for weeks, Greg Sanders. After a large confrontation, which included the Key Killer chopping off her sister's foot and shoot Sanders several times, the Key Killer was thrown off this cliff by her older sister.

"Shortly after falling to what is believed to be her death, a heavy rain fell in Las Vegas, flooding the valley down below and washing away the Key Killer's body. Police are still searching the valley, and, until a body is found, she can only be declared missing. Experts are stressing that a fall of that magnitude, plus the floodwater, would have killed Simms. The police are assuring the public tonight that the Key Killer is, in fact, dead, but at this time there is no sign of her body."

Wendy stepped out of bed, still remembering the newscast. _Missing._ Only a few months ago was she officially declared dead. Wendy's friends all assured her that she was paranoid, and that there was no way Alyssa could have survived that fall. Wendy knew that. Still there was always that feeling that somehow Alyssa had survived. Every time she heard something in the night, every time her floorboards creaked, she thought it was Alyssa.

There was a knock at her door. Wendy tensed.

"Wendy? _Wendy!_ Open up! We're gonna be late!" Mandy was pounding on the door. Wendy walked up calmly and opened it.

"Why are you here so _early?_" Wendy whined, suddenly feeling exhaust climb over her body.

"_Early?!" _Mandy looked at her like she was crazy. "Wendy, it's _noon_." Wendy spun around and looked her clock in the eye. Noon. _Noon_. Mandy looked at Wendy. "Well, _move!_" Wendy ran into her apartment. She was getting married in four hours.

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Wendy patted her hair one last time. She looked down at her dress, and felt ridiculously silly in it.

"Wendy you look _stunning!_" Riley was fixing the bottom of Wendy's dress. Wendy turned to her bridesmaids, Many and Riley (who had since become one of Wendy's best friends), and sighed. She was getting married. _She was getting married._ Two years ago Wendy wasn't even sure she would live to see her wedding. Now it was here.

Wendy sighed and took her place as the music started, feeling very much like an actor in a play, ready to plaster on a fake smile and make small talk for hours before she could finally take off this ridiculous dress and _sleep_, which she hadn't done in weeks. The music played. She entered.

As she walked down the isle she realized something. She didn't feel like an actor. She felt like herself. She smiled. She wondered if this was the overly clichéd way people were supposed to feel when they we're in love. She wasn't sure. As she reached the altar, still grinning like and idiot, she knew that this was right. She loved him; he loved her. She knew that this was the man she was going to spend the rest of her life with. And she was happy.

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Wendy moaned as she sat down. "I swear to God if I have to smile and hug someone who _I don't know_ again your head is coming off."

Greg laughed. And sat down next to her. "_My_ head? Their your parents friends." Wendy rolled her eyes.

"We're less than three hours into this marriage and you already hate my parents." Greg laughed, and she laughed too. Greg stood and extended his hand.

"Come on. In case you forgot, this is _our_ wedding reception, and if we disappear for to long Grissom will start telling his bug stories." Wendy stood. They walked back out. They had been back no more than five minutes when Greg was sidelined by Wendy's parents, who simply _had_ to introduce him to Wendy's great aunt's daughter's cousin's son's roommate's doctor twice removed. Or something like that. Wendy rolled her eyes and walked towards Riley, who was making small talk with Nick. Much more her crowd. Riley smiled as she approached.

"There's the lucky bride!" Wendy rolled her eyes jokingly as Riley hugged her. Nick laughed and Wendy already felt a sense of relief. Her people. She sighed. Riley laughed. "Hey, I'm going to go see if Mandy needs any help." Mandy had been sent long ago to the coat room, in an attempt to find someone's missing emerald ring which was _the_ most important thing at her best friends wedding. Wendy nodded. Her parents friends and Greg's parents friends equaled a room full of overly snooty rich people at the wedding of two people who could barely pay their rent.

Wendy turned to Nick, who still smiled. "Well, I'm really—"

He was cut off by a scream so piercing that Wendy cringed. She looked up. Riley stumbled out of the coatroom, still screaming. Wendy and Greg both broke into a run to see what was wrong. When Wendy saw she nearly fainted.

Mandy was dead.

There was a knife sticking out of Mandy's chest. Her blood was all over the wall. But it was what was written on the wall that scared Wendy.

"It's been a long time since someone died/ to find the key to how I came back you must look inside. P.S. It was a lovely wedding sister. Really lovely. Love Alyssa"

Wendy felt sick. She stumbled backward, falling against a wall.

Her sister was alive.

Her sister was alive and had killed Mandy.

Her sister was alive and had killed Mandy at Wendy's wedding.

Alyssa was at Wendy's wedding.

Alyssa was _here._

Wendy screamed.

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Note: Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know I said _Monday_ but I finished early and I wanted to post.

So this chapter here was my worry chapter. I fear that sounded a bit better in my head than it actually translated on paper. And also I both killed and brought back the Key Killer in one chapter, which can spell trouble. So hopefully it's just my self-doubt that's making me think this chapter is bad.

Thanks for all your reviews and for everybody reading! I hope you enjoy.


	9. Chapter 9

Wendy knew something was off when they couldn't find Alyssa's body. She _knew_ she wasn't just being paranoid. They should have found her. They _should_ have.

What she couldn't understand was how Alyssa had lived. Wendy had been told repeatedly that no one could have survived that fall. _No one._ What made Alyssa so special? Was she _immune_ to death? Wendy shuddered at that thought. Could it be that her sister had the ability to cheat death at it's own game?

No one had spoken to Wendy since she had screamed. Someone had called the police, but Wendy couldn't remember who. She felt numb all over, her brain could process anything new, it only kept repeating what had happened, how she had thrown the rock, how Alyssa had fallen ("You are a murder. _You_ are a murder! _You are a murder!"_), her feet refused to move. She simply sat there, unable to swallow _exactly_ what had happened. Eventually Greg slumped down next to her.

"Wendy—"

"She was at my wedding." Wendy processed the thought without really understanding it. Now it rung bitter in her head. Now it sounded completely unreal, like a bizarre dream she had had the night before and was only vaguely remembering as she woke. Wendy felt the words stir inside her, finally coming to reality. "She was at my wedding." Wendy repeated, anger seeping through her words. "_She was at my wedding!"_ Wendy was yelling now, finally feeling the effect of those five words. Wendy broke into tears, burying herself into Greg's shoulder.

Greg didn't say anything. He knew that his words would do no good. As Wendy cried, and the coroner took Mandy away in a body bag, and the guests slowly collected themselves and left, Wendy and Greg stayed there, saying nothing. There was nothing to say. Alyssa Simms had come back from the dead.

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Of course, Greg and Wendy thought that Alyssa "coming back from the dead" meant that Alyssa had, in reality, never _died_ in the first place. They were wrong. Alyssa had died. In fact, Alyssa had died for exactly 2 minutes and 22 seconds.

In fact, the fall _did not_ kill Alyssa. Nor did the water for that matter. It was the rock. The rock had punctured Alyssa's lung. She did not fall all the way down into the valley either. She was caught on a ledge. When the water started the fall, the ledge broke, sending Alyssa down into the now partially flooded valley. That, in fact, saved her life. She was carried down the valley until a few hikers taking refuge from the rain spotted her. By this time her face was so scratched that she could not be recognized.

The hikers brought her to the nearest hospital, where she died for 2 minutes and 22 seconds. She could not breathe through her punctured lung, and therefore no oxygen was getting to her brain. If they had not revived her for another 38 seconds, she would have suffered severe brain damage. As it was, she suffered nothing. She remembered everything in fact, her name, her occupation (if you could call murderer an occupation), and her sister. She remembered it all. But she lied to the staff of the hospital. She claimed to remember nothing. They called her Jane Doe for nearly 6 months before Alyssa came up with the perfect cover. Of course, it made absolutely no sense whatsoever, but the hospital staff ate it up like the latest episode of Lost.

Alyssa claimed her name was Mandy. She said that she had been hiking down in the valley when the ledge she was standing on gave way, and she fell into the valley. She was pinned underneath a rock until it started to rain, when the water unpinned the rock and set her free. She drifted until the hikers found her.

The hospital staff asked her her last name. She spoke immediately, saying Webster. Of course they looked her up right away, only to find that Mandy Webster was, in fact alive and well living in Vegas. They immediately called Alyssa's bluff. But by that time, Alyssa had killed a nurse, stolen her clothes, and walked out of the hospital, unnoticed.

She had come back from the dead, with one purpose: to kill Wendy Simms.

************************************************************************************

Two days passed with absolutely nothing. No one at the wedding, not even Wendy and Alyssa's parents, saw her. Wendy was already losing hope that they would find her before she killed some other people. Wendy didn't know that Alyssa didn't plan on _killing_ anybody else except Wendy herself. Wendy couldn't know this, because even Alyssa didn't really know this. Alyssa only knew that she would do anything to get to Wendy. _Anything_.

As Wendy entered her apartment for the first time since her wedding (which wasn't really shocking, it wasn't like Greg and Wendy could _afford_ a honeymoon) she gently felt her leg. Her plastic leg. Wendy remembered the doctor telling her they had to amputate the leg from the knee down. She remembered the doctor, who looked like she had only just walked from her Med School graduation to Wendy's room, saying that Wendy might never walk without a cane again. Wendy remembered two years of extensive physical therapy, just to prove that doctor wrong.

Wendy walked quietly into the apartment, with Greg just behind her.

"Wendy, I told you, Catherine told you, Nick told you, the answer is _no._" Wendy was angry. She hated fighting with Greg, especially at this time in their lives, but she was not going to back down from this.

"I want to work this case. I am _going_ to work this case." Greg sighed and rolled his eyes, sitting down. Wendy smirked. "Give up?" She knew that Greg wouldn't be able to stop her, and at some point he would give into her wants. He looked up at her and she saw that a look of fear had set in his eyes. Wendy moved towards him.

"You're going to get yourself killed." Wendy blinked. She had thought about that, and of course _she_ didn't really care about her own life. She had almost completely forgotten about Greg. He looked at her, standing up. "Do you remember what it felt like Wendy? When _I_ was the one who was probably going to get killed?" Of course Wendy had remembered. It was something she would remember forever. She touched her leg again as the word flowed through her mind. _Forever._

Wendy could not respond to what Greg said with any logic whatsoever. She knew that if she went after her sister she would die. But…she _had_ to do it. She needed to confront her sister; she needed to find some sort of closure. The thought that the only person in the world who had scared her, who had scared her _so much_, was still alive, was still out there looking for her was to much for Wendy. The very thought that Alyssa could still win, that Alyssa could still get what she wanted scared Wendy. Wendy could not imagine just sitting on the sideline and watching other people try and find her sister. She needed to find Alyssa. She _needed_ to find her.

The very thought brought tears to Wendy's eyes. She hadn't cried out of fear since the incident. Now she couldn't stop. Greg hugged her, and for the first time both of them were unsure of what to say. So they stood there, soundless expect for Wendy's chocked sobs, until the piercing ring of Greg's cell phone interrupted them.

"Sanders." Greg answered his phone immediately. Wendy wiped her tears and sat down on their couch. Greg nodded several times before speaking again. "Okay. We'll be right there." _We?_ Greg hung up the phone and turned to Wendy. "That was Nick. It's about—" Before Greg could even finish Wendy was up and pulling on her coat.

************************************************************************************

Riley was sitting in the interrogation room, sobbing. Greg and Nick were standing outside as Wendy talked to her.

"Riley _what is it?_ What's so important that you insisted we all come down here?" Riley was letting out unintelligible gasps and sobs, but so far had said nothing for nearly half of an hour. "_Riley!" _Riley looked up, stunned at Wendy's volume and tone. "_What happened?"_ Riley started to cry again, but this time silently.

"I-I'm so sorry." Riley sputtered. Wendy was about to yell again when Riley continued. "I-It was a-at your wuh-wuh-wedding" Riley was sobbing again, but at least this time she was understandable. "I thu-thu-thought I saw someone. She wu-was buh-londe." Riley couldn't stop crying. Wendy had almost never seen Riley cry. It worried her extremely.

"Who?" Wendy asked quietly. "Who did you see?"

Riley looked up, choked down another sob, and spoke "I thu-ink it was A-A-lyssa." Wendy's eyes widened. Her heart race increased.

"_What!"_

Riley burst into tears again. "I suh-saw a woman. With buh-londe hair. She looked like A-A-lyssa. I…I was going to tuh-talk to her, buh-buh-but I turned around and she was guh-guh-gone!" Riley was crying harder now. "I'm sorry! I'm so sorry!"

"How…why? _Why didn't you tell us this before?_" Riley said something but Riley was crying so hard that Wendy couldn't hear her. Wendy felt numb again. She walked out of the room, leaving behind the hysterical Riley.

************************************************************************************

Wendy and Greg were only home for five minutes before Wendy burst into tears. Greg hugged her again, both of them understanding that Riley could have put an end to this nightmare, but was just too late. Neither of them blamed her for what happened, but she was most certainty not innocent. She could have done something. She could have told them something. She didn't.

When Wendy had stopped crying she stood up and went to put her coat in the closet. When she opened it, she came face to face with a large cardboard box.

"What the-?" Wendy tugged at the box, which tipped and fell over, spilling the contents. Inside the box were keys.

Keys.

Keys.

Alyssa had been here. Inside Wendy's apartment.

Keys.

Here.

_Keys._

Inside Wendy's apartment.

_Keyskeyskeyskeyskeyskeys._

_KEYS!_

Wendy fainted.

************************************************************************************

As she lay unconscious, several things happened.

The first was Wendy's nightmare.

Wendy thought she was waking up, in a black haze. She immediately recognized the room she was in, the florescent lights, the uncomfortable metal table.

Alyssa's lair.

Wendy tried to move, only to discover that she was tied down. Not realizing that this was a dream, Wendy tried screaming for help. Nothing came out of her mouth. She screamed and screamed and screamed, and there was no noise. She heard footsteps. Alyssa was next to her, somehow like a skyscraper, towering above her. Wendy tried screaming again. Nothing. Alyssa had a scalpel. She began to cut Wendy opened. Horrified, Wendy understood that this wasn't her murder.

It was her _autopsy. _

Wendy screamed soundlessly again as Alyssa ripped out her heart. Then she molded it like clay, until it represented the shape of a key.

_KEYS._

Alyssa laughed. _Her_ laugh. _That laugh_. Wendy screamed, still soundlessly as Alyssa's jaw dropped to the floor, opening the black abyss that was her mouth. Wendy fell in, gasping, desperate.

She fell into a hallway. Desperate to leave she ran through, passing all the key shaped doors, running, running never going anywhere.

_Trapped._

Wendy finally reached the final door at the hallway, and pushed it open. There stood her friends. Nick, Riley, Mandy, Catherine, Ray, _Greg_. She screamed again, but there was no noise.

Alyssa stood behind them, still a tower, still a monster. She slowly walked the line of Wendy's friends, shooting Nick, swallowing Riley whole, stabbing Mandy, beheading Catherine, ripping Ray limb for limb. Wendy screamed again, and finally sound emerged. She screamed, and could hear the echo that followed it. Alyssa laughed. And then, to Wendy's horror, Greg laughed too. He laughed and laughed and laughed, and Wendy saw that there was no one she could trust. Not anymore. Wendy screamed.

And this time, she woke up. She was breathing raggedly, still scared out of her mind. She did not know where she was. She sat up; a nurse next to her pushed her shoulder down.

"Sweetie, sweetie! It's okay! You fainted, that's all. Don't worry don't worry! You're in a hospital. You're safe."

_Safe?_ Wendy thought. _You don't know anything about danger, so how could you judge whether or not I was safe?_

Nick walked in after her and dismissed the nurse. He looked at Wendy. The look in his eyes worried her.

"What's wrong?" She immediately thought of her dream, of all of her friends being murdered, of Mandy. Nick swallowed and spoke quickly, informing her of the other event that happened when Wendy was unconscious.

Riley Adams was dead.

Nick told Wendy that Riley had hung herself in her apartment shortly after being released from interrogation. Wendy couldn't breathe. It wasn't because Riley was dead, no. It was because of how utterly wrong Nick was. She remembered her dream, and suddenly understood what it had meant. Alyssa was going to get what she wanted.

Riley Adams did not commit suicide. She was murdered.

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A/N: So yes, Riley _is_ dead. And Alyssa will stop at nothing to get what she wants. Muhahaha! Please review! And I'm sorry that I killed Riley, I really didn't want to, but it was the only way I could approach what is about to happen next. Sorry!


	10. Chapter 10

Alyssa Simms had to seriously ponder the question that was Greg Sanders. A couple of years ago she was head over heels for the boy who so clearly loved her very own sister. Now she wasn't so sure. I mean, yes she did still _love_ him, and want him desperately to lover her back, but she wasn't sure that attempting to _kill_ him had been the best plan of strategy to get him to actually do this. Perhaps slowly driving him mad would work better? _Yes_. Making him crazy by killing his friends off one by one would most definitely be the trick.

As she sat in a coffee shop only thirty feet, _thirty freaking feet_, from where Greg and Wendy lived, twirling her newly blonde hair, she thought about how brilliant and simply _evil_ she was. She had already sorted her priorities, and as she nursed a large coffee (_black, much like her heart)_ she remembered these priorities, and reviewed them.

The most important thing was to make sure that her stupid, lucky, horrid sister paid for all the pain and suffering she had caused Alyssa over the years. So, yes, that would be first. Disposing of Wendy. Alyssa had very carefully laid out her plan to dispose Wendy, and did not plan on going against it, _no matter what_. She needed to isolate Wendy. In fact, she had already begun to isolate Wendy, quite well in fact. With this new development of Riley's death, all of her friends, well, _those that were left_ thought that she was completely and utterly insane. Of course, she really wasn't. Riley Adams death had been _far_ from a suicide.

It hadn't been hard, really. Riley, in fact, had been sedated with a lovely little chemical that knocked her out solid and passed merrily through her bloodstream before anyone even had the notion of looking for it. After she was unconscious, Alyssa tied a rope around Riley's neck and hung her. No one would suspect foul play; there were no signs of it. A grin spread wide across Alyssa's face.

Alyssa turned to watch her sister's car as it drove into an empty parking spot in front of the shop. Alyssa smiled. It was exactly what she had planned. Knowing that she was alone in her thought of foul play in Riley's death, and fearing for her and Greg's lives, Wendy had left her husband of exactly 1 month, 2 days, and 16 hours, packing her belongings and heading for a hotel. And, just as Alyssa had suspected, Wendy stopped by her favorite shop for a drink for the ride. Alyssa watched as her sister walked into the store. Her eyes did not even see Alyssa, less than three feet away from her.

_You could do it. You could do it right now. You could end all of this._ Alyssa's mind was screaming, but she calmed her self down. _Logic. Priorities. I cannot fail._ Alyssa watched her sister order a large black coffee as she drank her own, smiling. Wendy walked out of the shop, into her car, and drove away. Alyssa had been three feet away from her sister, and that dumb bitch hadn't even noticed.

After isolating Wendy, and breaking poor little Greg's heart, came the murder of Nick, Ray, and Catherine. These could be done anyway she wanted, she supposed, but it had to be done in that order. She wasn't completely sure why, but she knew that it had to be done this way. After that would be the capture of Wendy Simms. Like last time, Alyssa would give Greg time to find his dear, dear wifey. Only, unlike last time, Wendy would be dead by the time Greg noticed she was gone.

And when Greg found her, she would capture him, like she did last time. And…. well, whatever happened next happened. Alyssa wasn't sure what, really, because this part didn't matter. He could escape; turn her in, none of it mattered. Because everything he loved was dead. She had successfully burned herself into his pathetic little mind, forever. And that was what Alyssa Simms wanted.

She heard a car pull up. She smiled wide. The driver got out of the car, and walked into the store. Alyssa waved.

"Hi!" She was speaking in her perfected Georgia Peach accent, like a true southern girl. "I'm Carly."

"Nick." Nick Stokes said, smiling. It was a blind date. An arranged blind date. But Nick didn't know that. And it didn't matter. Because by the end of the night, Nick Stokes would be dead.

************************************************************************************

When Greg came home to find all of Wendy's stuff gone he was sad, but not particularly surprised.

She thought Riley's death had been a murder. Greg…well Greg wasn't entirely sure what he thought. Suicide was _likely_ he supposed, due to the shocking revelation only a few hours before that she had seen Alyssa at his and Wendy's wedding, but he wasn't sure that Riley would have _killed_ herself over that. But Nick was sure. Catherine and Ray were sure. Everyone else was sure that Riley Adams, saddened by guilt, had hung herself in her apartment. Everyone except Wendy. So Wendy, logically, thought that she was alone, and left. She didn't know that Greg would have stuck by her no matter what, and it crushed him that she had so little faith in him.

He sat on the couch, _their_ couch, and thought about what to do next. And the scary thing was that he wasn't entirely sure. He knew that Wendy needed to find and bring Alyssa down herself. He couldn't interfere. Wendy was smart. She knew what she was doing.

Greg sighed. For now, all he could do was hope that Wendy was a step ahead.

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Wendy hated seedy motels, but with the money she had, it was all she could afford. As she sat on the bed, which creaked loudly as her weight fell upon it, she tried not to imagine all the disgusting, horrid things that had happened in this room (she swore she solved a rape once in this very spot), and instead wondered what she had to do next. Yes, she had probably saved Greg's life by leaving. But now what? She had left…and she had no idea where to go.

Wendy felt tears run down her cheeks. She couldn't even imagine what Greg must have felt like walking into their apartment to discover that…well it wasn't _their_ apartment anymore. Wendy still loved Greg; she loved him more than anything. But the truth was that a case like this was enough to break any couple up. She needed to find her sister. She knew that Alyssa wasn't the type to forget quickly, meaning that she probably still loved Greg. Wendy knew that her running away might distract her sister long enough for Wendy to find her, and possibly save Greg's life.

Wendy laid back down on the bed, her tears quietly running down her cheeks. _It had to be done_, she told herself, over and over again. She couldn't help but think that there was another way, another path, some other plan that wouldn't have hurt so much. Wendy wiped her tears away with the back of her hand. _No. This is the way. She wants you now. Not him. Not yet. You need to by time Wendy. This is the only way._ Wendy nodded. She had to believe those words.

************************************************************************************

_Blood._

_Screams._

_Keys._

"_Dammit!"_ Alyssa was practically screaming under her breath as she walked away from the scene. Her blonde hair draped down her shoulders and she prayed that no one had seen her leave.

It was almost 9 PM. Nick Stokes should have been dead by now. Problem was that he wasn't.

It had all gone so well. So according to the damn _plan_ that Alyssa was shocked it went wrong at all.

The date had gone fantastic. It was dinner, stupid, cheap, and relatively disgusting, but Alyssa, well, Carly had loved it all. Or so it seemed. Then there was the club. Loud and filled with people. Alyssa swore that someone would recognize her, but no one did. And then after that…well after that everything hit the fan.

Nick had invited her back to his apartment. He was _supposed_ to invite her back to his apartment. It was _good._ Of course Nick thought that they would have sex and she would walk away and never return. Alyssa had…well different plans.

She coolly slid into his apartment and had a couple of drinks before asking to "slip into something more comfortable". Perfect. She walked straight into the kitchen, pulling out a knife. A _big_ knife. She smiled and walked back into the other room. Nick shot her a look of confusion, before she draped one arm around his neck, keeping the hand with the knife behind her back.

"I think you're going to have to the most exciting day of your knife Nicky." She smiled broadly, and evilly, and Nick smiled back. Then she pulled out the knife. His smile faded. _Fast_.

She was about to stab him in the throat when he moved out from under her, tripping her slightly. She looked at him, still smiling that smile, and laughing that laugh that haunted Wendy's nightmares to this day.

"Y-You." Nick stammered, making his way backwards. Alyssa nodded.

"Me." She lunged towards him, stabbing him in the chest. She fell backwards. She stabbed him again, in the leg, then the chest, the stomach. But he just wouldn't _die._ He managed to find the strength to shove her off of him, and he clambered towards a phone. She ran towards him, but tossing him away from the phone just as it connected to 911.

"_No!" _She shrieked. But Nick was already talking.

"Help me! You need to help me! I'm being attacked. I'm at-" Alyssa tossed him away. He had already listed his address and apartment number. "My name is---"

Alyssa smashed the phone, panting. She looked at him. His eyes widened. In her eyes was a crazy glare. The kind that scared the crap out of Nick. The kind that made him hate his job. He screamed. Alyssa slammed the knife into his chest one more time before fleeing.

Alyssa stood outside his apartment, one of the crowd that was mingling by, curious to see what happened. She cured under her breath when they brought Nick out on a stretcher instead of a body bag. A car pulled up. She knew that car.

Greg Sanders stepped out onto the street. She shook her head sadly, as if shocked by the tragedy that had unfolded, and walked away. No one stopped her. Alyssa swore. She had screwed up.

************************************************************************************

Wendy was awoken by a phone call two hours later. She stammered and went to pick it up. The caller ID read Greg Sanders. She debated whether to pick up or ignore before finally setting the phone down. He called again. She ignored again. Then she got a text. She expected it to ream her out, calling her names. Or to say that he understood her choice and was with her. Or to simply say, "I hate you." She did _not_ expect what it said. Not at all.

From: Greg Sanders  
Time: 11:07 PM

Nick is dead.

Wendy blinked three times before the severity of the message hit her. She called back right away.

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A/N: As always reviews are appreciated! Thanks so much for reading!


	11. Chapter 11

Wendy Simms did not remember the drive to the hospital. She didn't remember asking where Nick's room was. She didn't remember running up the stairs to go and stare at his dead body. It just happened. Because the only thing she remembered was Greg's surreal text. "Nick is dead." And then all of the sudden she was standing in the hospital next to Catherine and Ray and Greg, speechless. Wendy looked down at her feet. She hadn't even put _shoes_ on, she saw. She was still wearing only her socks.

Catherine had filled Wendy in on what had happened. Nick had been attacked by Alyssa, who had stabbed him repeatedly. Shortly after being rushed to the hospital, Nick was dead. He had not been able to give any description whatsoever, but because he was not able to recognize Alyssa, Wendy assumed Alyssa no longer looked the way she had.

Greg said nothing. Neither did Ray, but Wendy was less worried about him. And after a while, Catherine stopped talking as well. The silence that followed was deafening, and Wendy thought for a few minutes that she might go crazy. However, thankfully, Greg's cell phone rang, and they were all reminded that there was life outside this white hallway. Greg left with Ray and Catherine, and Wendy was left alone with Nick's body. She stayed for two or three minutes before she could no longer stand the stink of the hospital and she left.

As Wendy got to her car she realized something that made her heart race and her hair stand up on end. The car was unlocked. Wendy had locked it. Wendy _always_ locked it. It wasn't broken into it was just…unlocked. Wendy opened the door to see a small slip of paper on her seat.

"Welcome to the beginning of the end little sister." Wendy didn't cry. She didn't scream. For the first time in nearly two years Wendy felt nothing. She was numb.

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After seeing what had happened to Nick, Ray Langston decided to quit his job there and then, and move back to medicine. Even that didn't save his life.

Gently he closed his office and walked out of the Crime Lab. Catherine was shooting daggers at him behind tear filled eyes. As he walked past she hissed "Coward" at him. He didn't care. So what? Let him be a coward as long as he had the rest of his life to live. There was so much he didn't do. So much he didn't say. So much…

Ray shook this thought vehemently out of his head. He stepped into his car and drove home.

He got home to find his house suspiciously quiet and empty. As if the very life had been completely sucked out of it. He knew she was there before she said anything.

"I quit. Isn't that enough? I left. I'm done. I don't want to send you to jail." Alyssa stepped out from her hiding spot and smiled. Much to his surprise, her hair was now platinum blonde.

"Maybe if you weren't such a coward maybe I wouldn't have killed you. I never had anything against you Ray. But you _left._ Are you so afraid of me? I just can't believe that."

Ray swallowed. "You do have a gun."

Alyssa smiled wide. "Because you quit. I wouldn't have it if you didn't." She gently raised it to her head. "Bye bye Ray. I sure hope cowards go to heaven. And if they don't, I'll meet you in Hell." She pulled the trigger.

************************************************************************************

Greg and Catherine didn't even go to the crime scene. Instead they stayed at the Crime Lab. Catherine sighed.

"So I guess I'm next then." Catherine said. It wasn't a question. That alone sickened Greg. He looked at her.

"No. You're not." Catherine blinked in a confused shock. "You are going to leave Vegas tonight. Pack only enough for both you and Lindsay for a day or two. Don't tell anyone where you're going. Take a bus, a Greyhound, and pay in cash. _Tell no one_. Just go. Disappear. It's going to save you. Trust me."

"But Greg---" Greg looked at her. "Wouldn't she just follow me?" Greg shook his head.

"Her picture is all over the Vegas City limits. There is no way she's leaving Vegas."

Catherine still didn't look convinced. "But then what? What happens to you and Wendy?"

Greg sighed. "Then it's the end." Neither of them said anything for a moment.

"It's the only way you're going to walk away alive." Catherine nodded. Neither of them spoke of it again.

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When Lindsay Willows did not show up for school the next day her teacher thought nothing of it. When her mother did not call in sick for Lindsay, she thought it was slightly peculiar. Lindsay was not the type to skip school. Period. Perhaps Mrs. Willows had just forgotten.

When Lindsay did not show up the second day, and there was no call, her teacher became more worried. She told the vice principal of her worries. The vice principal called Catherine. There was no answer.

By the time Lindsay was absent for the 5th day, and Catherine had not been seen for 5 days either, the teacher called the police.

Greg suppressed his smile. Catherine had done exactly what he had told her to do. No one else knew. Catherine and Lindsay were listed as the Key Killer's latest victims, and Greg showed no protest.

It was all over the news. Everyone knew that Greg and Wendy had to be next, but no one went right out and said it.

Greg sighed and looked towards the sky. This was it. It was almost over.

Greg sighed again. "Welcome to the endgame."

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Note: Okay, I'm sorry because this is so short, but I haven't had time to write this week, and I'm out of town next and I felt so bad for not posting. On the plus side, I know exactly what's happening next, I just don't have time to write it. I promise to post sometime around the 2nd, or shortly after. Until then please enjoy!


	12. The Endgame: Part 1

Catherine Willows had vanished into thin air. Nick Stokes, Riley Adams, Mandy Webster, and Ray Langston were all dead. The only people left were Greg Sanders and Wendy Simms. It was exactly the way Alyssa had wanted it. She took a deep breath.

"Welcome to the Endgame. This should be fun."

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By definition, endgame is the final stage of a game, like chess, where few pieces remain. In videogames the endgame tends to be the final level or levels, in which a final boss battle occurs. In other words the endgame is basically what is sounds like. The end of the game. And in this case, the game was the lives of Greg and Wendy and the Key Killer.

It was three days. Three days for the endgame to start and finish. In this time the world would wait with their breath held, in order to discover what had happened to Greg and Wendy. Because on the first day, within four and half hours of each other, they both vanished off the face of the Earth.

It happened like so.

12:00 PM: Greg Sanders arrives at the crime scene of the now missing Catherine Willows and her daughter Lindsay.

12:30 PM: Wendy Simms checks out of the motel where she was staying, approximately 20 minutes away from her apartment.

12:42 PM: Greg Sanders leaves the crime scene and goes back to the Las Vegas Crime Lab.

12:50 PM: The landlord at Greg and Wendy's apartment buzzes Wendy inside after she rings three times. The landlord claims that Wendy seemed flustered, and needed a key to her apartment, claiming she had lost hers. The landlord is puzzled because she had not seen Wendy for days, but give Wendy the key for $35.

1:02 PM: Greg Sanders walks into the office of Conrad Ecklie and informs him he will not be working the Catherine Willows case.

1:10 PM: The landlord at Greg and Wendy's apartment claims that she sees Wendy leaving in her car. This is the last time Wendy Simms is seen.

1: 30 PM: Greg Sanders receives a 419 and leaves to go to the crime scene.

2:06 PM: Greg arrives at the crime scene.

4:10 PM: Greg leaves for the Las Vegas Crime Lab. This is the last time he is seen.

7:10 PM: Another day shift CSI arrives at the Crime Lab to discover that Greg never arrived. They immediately call his cell phone. There is no answer. Greg is immediately listed as a missing person.

7:15 PM: Ecklie calls Wendy's cell phone to inform her of Greg's disappearance. There is no answer.

7:55 PM: Ecklie puts together enough information to determine that no one has seen Wendy since 1:10 PM. A missing person's case is officially filled.

************************************************************************************

Wendy got into her car at 1:10 PM. She had left the note in Greg's apartment, like they had planned. It was a lie, of course. She said she was going to California, and he needed to meet her there. In reality, she had paid in cash for two one-way tickets to Chicago at 6:00 PM. She couldn't have known that neither of them would ever catch the flight.

She got into her car, and immediately knew something was off. That was even before she felt the cold metal of a gun pressed against her head, and heard her sister hiss "Drive." Wendy blinked, and said nothing. She couldn't see Alyssa in the rear view mirror, and she didn't dare turn around.

"I said _drive._ I could kill you here if I wanted too. So you can drive, or you can die. Your choice."

Wendy paused for a moment longer. She could feel Alyssa's finger pause on the trigger. Wendy knew Alyssa wouldn't hesitate to kill her here. She supposed she ought to play along.

"Where to?" Wendy could practically hear and feel Alyssa grin evilly.

"Go straight. I'll tell you where to turn."

In fact, they drove about eight miles before Alyssa told Wendy to pull over. Wendy felt the cold metal of the barrel of the gun for a split second before everything went black.

Alyssa had struck Wendy in the head with the butt of the gun. Alyssa pulls Wendy out of the driver's seat, and transfers it to an unmarked car that Alyssa had stolen from a used car lot five days before. She closes the trunk on her sister after tying her up. She leaves the keys to Wendy's cars in the ignition, as well as both plane tickets, Wendy's apartment key, and a note.

"One down, two to go. Where to find me, you'll never know. Not until long after dear Wendy has died. (As always) to find the Key to how I am, you must look inside."

************************************************************************************

Greg Sanders left the crime scene with no intention of ever returning to the Las Vegas Crime Lab. He also had no intention of going to Chicago. He had a feeling that Alyssa was smart enough to know that they were going to leave. So he decided not to head for the airport. Instead, he headed to a graveyard.

They had buried Mandy and Nick here. Neither had a headstone yet. He looked at the dirt, where hundreds of people, most of whom didn't even know Nick or Mandy, had left flowers. A car door slammed behind him. Footsteps. He could feel Alyssa's presence long before she spoke.

"Hello Mr. Sanders. Long time no see." Greg turned to face her. Alyssa's short, straight black hair was now long, blonde, and curled. A long scar ran from the top of her eye to the bottom of her chin. She wore blue color contacts. But she was still Alyssa Simms. She had a face that Greg would never forget. _Never_.

"So I suppose this means that you have Wendy already." Greg said. It was not a question. He knew. Alyssa smiled.

"Yes…yes I do. You know Greg I was surprised when you didn't go the airport or the crime lab. I thought you would have been more…_hopeful_. I guess even you knew that you didn't have a chance."

Greg couldn't help it. He laughed. Alyssa narrowed her eyes. Greg looked at her.

"I still have a chance Alyssa, I just don't think you're smart enough to understand that." Her smiled faded into a look of pure hate. "It isn't over. And if you think I'm just going to lay down and die you have another thing coming. I thought you would have known better Alyssa. Or did you really think that this part was going to be easy?"

Alyssa looked around slightly. Her eyes narrowed again. "I supposed you're right. I knew that this wouldn't be easy." She leaned in suddenly, smiling wickedly. "But you still don't have a chance Greg. I'm smarter, I'm better, and I don't have anything to lose. You…you've already _lost_ everything you cared about. They're all 6 feet under. Even your precious wife."

Greg looked at her. And he just couldn't help but laugh. He laughed hard.

"You think the death of your wife is _funny?_ Or do you just think I'm _joking?_" But Greg wasn't laughing at that. Greg was laughing at the fact that they had fought so hard. They had killed her once, Wendy had her foot, and they had all lost a piece of their sanity. They had lost Mandy, and Nick, and Riley, and Ray, and were only lucky enough to keep Catherine. He was laughing because he had fought so hard, and she was _right._ He had already lost everything. He was laughing because she thought that that meant she had won. But she hadn't. In fact, his losing everything had only put them in the same position. They no longer had anything riding on this. He had nothing left to lose.

Perhaps Greg could win this after all. Perhaps Alyssa didn't have the leg up. Perhaps…perhaps somehow Greg could come out the victor.

And that thought alone made him so happy, that he couldn't stop laughing. Greg Sanders just might win after all.

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Note: Only a few more chapters left! I'm so excited!

Okay, so I was gone last week, and unfortunately I'm gone next week too! Whoops. I hope to finish this before Labor Day, though. But there most likely won't be an update until the 16th or later. Sorry! Until then, enjoy this!


	13. The Endgame: Part 2

She awoke in a haze. For several moments she was not sure if she was awake at all, or merely dreaming a horrible, horrible nightmare. Slowly her eyes adjusted to the darkness, but she could make out no other figures in the room. She remembered nothing. Not even her name. She swore gently, and tried to shift her position from the uncomfortable squat she was in, sending a ripple of searing pain throughout her body. She practically screamed. She would have if she hadn't noticed something even more frightening than the pain. She was chained to the wall. There was no escape from the personal hell she had just entered.

She sat there for what felt like hours, but she had no real sense of time. It could have been days, or minutes, she had no way of telling how long she stayed in that room. Just as she began to feel herself slip back into a coma of sleep, a stream of near blinding light entered through the room. She blinked several times, but found that she could not look into the light at all. She turned away, eyes burning when she heard the voice.

"Why hello there my dearie. Have you enjoyed your visit in the hotel hell?" The voice cackled. Was it…Christ was it _female?_ She couldn't remember anything. She must have been knocked out hard. She felt a dull, throbbing pain from the side of her skull, but couldn't find away to reach it to see how bad it was. _Shit._ She was getting more frightened by the minute.

The shadow in the doorway moved closer, and with each step the prisoner's heart raced. This was it. She had a sickening feeling that whatever the _hell_ she had walked into she would most certainly _not_ be walking out of. The shadow stopped about a foot away from her. It was bizarre, but she could almost feel it _smile_. Whatever sick sociopath had captured her, it was enjoying her pain.

She dared to look up at the shadow to see that her eyes had adjusted, and she could now make out its face. She was right; her capture was smiling. She was going to scream, to cry, to beg, but suddenly she found that she couldn't. Fear had washed through her body, and she no longer had any ability to even create a coherent thought. All she could muster was desperation, fear, sadness. She struggled against her restraints as the hammer that her captor held smashed down upon her skull. Pain. _Pain!_ She screamed. Her captor struck again. _Her name! _ _What the hell was her name?_ Again the hammer fell. This time, she thought no longer. She died, not even sure of who she was.

Alyssa Simms bent down to talk to her lasted victim. She ran her fingers through the unfortunate girl's hair. She smiled wickedly. "Now let's go have a talk with Greg shall we? I'm sure he's _dying_ to know what happened to you." As she left the room, she laughed. She was still laughing when she exited the car to go talk to Greg.

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Three days before Greg and Wendy disappeared, someone else vanished too. Her name was Jane O'Conner. It was a rather simple name, but it was not a name she would remember when she needed to.

Wendy Simms had heard her sister laugh. She did not know about Jane, or about Greg. Not yet anyway. She was not chained to anything, but instead locked inside the room she was in. She also discovered that her sister had removed the prosthetic foot that had replaced her real one; the one Alyssa had cut off. Wendy felt disheartened. It wasn't supposed to end like this. The good guys were supposed to win. Then why did she feel like she had no chance?

Wendy stood as best as she possibly could and waddled towards the door, trying to figure out where she was. No such luck. She leaned against the hard, metal door and tried to plan what she would do next.

But as she planned she understood that all the other plans she had had had not work out as they were supposed to. Maybe it was time to stop thinking and start doing.

Now _there_ was a plan she could stick too.

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Only moments before she had been the one laughing. Now she couldn't understand why anybody could stand to hear the infernal sound. She smacked Greg Sanders the same way she had smacked her sister, and dragged his unconscious body back to her car, before driving back down the road to where she called home.

Jane O'Conner was dead. Wendy would be dying soon. She had told Greg that Wendy was dead, yes, but…it was an odd sort of nostalgia that stopped her from killing her sister. Alyssa wasn't exactly ready to have this whole little game be over. Perhaps, just perhaps, she could make it last for a little longer. A little more torture, a little more tears. _That_ would be just fine in her eyes.

Her mind was racing with thoughts and ideas that were only coherent in her deep subconscious. She was done chopping of limbs, but she could bring acid into the mix she supposed, and maybe inserting a key when they were still _alive_, yes that would be just dandy, and maybe lying to Wendy that Greg was dead, and to Greg that Wendy was dead, and—no _wait_, even better she could have them _fight_ to the death, or choose the other over themselves or----

The car slammed sideways and turned several times around in a circle. Alyssa had smashed her head up pretty bad on the steering wheel, and could feel the blood running down her face. All she could see was smoke. She struggled for her seatbelt and managed to unclick it with come effort before staggering out of the car, just in time to see the light switch from red to green. In her haze of thoughts and excitement she had run a red light.

Her breath caught in her throat. _Naturally._ She had hit a police car, and one of Las Vegas' finest was limping towards her at this very moment.

"Oh my goodness ma'am…I'm so sorry!" Alyssa had caught a stroke of luck. He hadn't noticed that _she_ had run the red light. She breathed a silent sigh of relief and glanced backward briefly.

The _trunk_. The freaking _trunk! It was open!_ And sure enough the cop caught her glance, and walked towards it.

"I'm really sorry about your car ma'am, but I want to be sure that your alri—" He trailed off. Because he couldn't really believe what he was seeing. It was Greg Sanders, stored in the back of her car. Alyssa dashed for the front seat, and struggled in the glove box for her gun, where the _hell_ was her _freaking_ gun for _Christ's _sake? She pulled it out desperately just as the cop turned to her. Now it was time for a quick draw. Whoever drew first and fired the shot was the winner. And lucky for Alyssa, but less luck for Greg and Wendy, Alyssa was a quick draw. She fired three rounds into the cops chest. He fell to the floor with a thud.

Next came the problem. She had no way to get Greg to the house anymore. Her car was totaled. She pulled him out of the trunk and laid him next to the cop, quickly scribbling a note and running off. She would have to continue this game another way. She just hoped they would be stupid enough to take the bait.

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Gilbert Grissom had lost his entire night shift staff. So when he got the call about the accident between Alyssa and the cop, he was nearly the first to the scene. Greg was being hauled off in an ambulance, alive. The cop was being zipped up in a black bag. Grissom had no interest in talking to Ecklie about this. He simply turned around and spoke four, sharp words in his general direction.

"_I'm on this case." _And that was that.

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The note read

"You got me this time, round one to you, but oh I have much more, that I plan to do. I still have your girlfriend, she'll be with you shortly, but you're very stupid to think you're done with me. I swore this was the end, and I have not lied. I'll be at the Hinckley reception, I'll see you inside."

The Hinckley's were a well-respected family from upstate New York, who had recently opened a casino here in Vegas. They were having a grand opening gala, an exclusive invitation only event. And the Key Killer and the Las Vegas Police Depart had both manage to score an invitation.

Alyssa was now a waitress with the catering company.

And the LVPD…well that one is self-explanatory.

Just as Alyssa had hoped, they insisted on both Greg and Wendy, who had been released from her clutches, to go and lure the Key Killer to the cops. How stupid did they think she was?

Her plan was flawless, perfection. All she had to do was wait until the Hinckley reception, tomorrow. Perfect. Everything was going to be just fine.

As she thought this, the clock struck midnight. And so was the end of day two.

The endgame was drawing to a close. Who would win?

Well no one knew the answer to that.

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Note: Sorry this took so long to post! I've been super busy, and I don't know when I'll get the next chapter up. I will say I hope it will be the last. I'm very close to wrapping this story up and I can't wait to see what you guys think of this chapter. So please review and tell me what you think! Thanks!


	14. The Endgame: Part 3

Note: Argh. I am really, _really_ sorry about what happened with this story. See, I wrote it. _Weeks_ ago. And then, well I really hated it. So I wrote it again. And, well that sucked too. Erm. So anyway, this is like, what, my sixth try? Yeah. So, this is it, the true blue finale, the end. Forever and ever. Done. It's done. And I sincerely hope you like and review it!

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_You would think that after all of this time they wouldn't fall for my tricks so easily._ Alyssa couldn't help but smile. Yes, she was in an unflattering, itchy suit for some stupid catering company. Yes, they seriously underpay the employee's. And yes she was currently carrying a _scorching_ hot plate of appetizers that were flash frozen in some factory somewhere but were claimed to be "homemade". But none of that mattered. Because only a few feet away stood Greg, and Wendy, and even Gil Grissom, and she knew that her plan was finally coming to an end.

"Hey! What are you doing? You're not slacking off are you?" Alyssa turned just in time to see Mary, the only employee she could really stand. Mary had dark black hair, and marks on her arms where she had cut herself, and she hated everyone and everything. She was much like Alyssa in that matter. Alyssa smiled as best as she could as Mary approached. As soon as she got a glimpse of what Alyssa was looking at she rolled her eyes.

"Ellen, _please_ don't tell me you're seriously dreaming of being one of _these_ freaks." Alyssa laughed. Much as she liked Mary, she couldn't believe that girl thought her name was Ellen. She looked _nothing_ like an Ellen!

"God no. I can't stand these type of stuck up pompous assholes." Her eyes lingered again on Greg. Mary caught her glance and looked over.

"Hey, I know that guy! Isn't he the one who's been in the news? The guy that that deranged Key Killer is stalking?" Alyssa looked up at her, feigning surprise and confusion. "Oh come on, you don't know who the Key Killer is?"

Alyssa shrugged. "I only moved here a couple of weeks ago. So I haven't been paying attention to the news, so what?" Greg's head turned slightly, towards their direction, and Alyssa ducked out of cover. She was not going to risk this whole operation. He could not see her. Mary followed behind her.

"So the Key Killer is this huge story. She's this deranged psychopath who murders people and then inserts KEYS in them for no reason whatsoever. She's like this one investigators sister or something, and she's totally in like, love with _that guy._ Apparently she's striking again tonight. That's the only reason I came tonight." Mary gently lifted a camera out of her pocked. "The tabloids are all buying!" Alyssa nodded again. She was about to say something when Mary continued. "This chick, whoever she is is a complete weirdo. I brought the camera for when the catch her. I want to see the look on her face when she realizes that this whole operation was a failure. She can't win. She won't! She's _way_ to stupid." Alyssa felt her face go cold. What did she ever see in this Mary anyway?

"Would you excuse me for a minute?" Mary nodded. Alyssa grabbed her backpack and headed towards the bathroom.

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When she came out of the bathroom, it was hard to recognize her. She was wearing a strapless, long blue gown. Her newly blonde hair hung at her shoulders. She looked stunning. She shoved her backpack under a table, and slipped on her new shoes. A voice rang out from almost nowhere.

"Ellen? Is that you?" Alyssa whipped around to see Mary, staring at her disbelievingly.

Oh no.

She knew it had to be somebody. Of course it had to be somebody. A calling car almost, a cry, a note. Just to say she was here, and to watch out. She really hoped it wouldn't be Mary, honestly. Sure the bitch had it coming, but she had really been hoping to get that tool Grissom in the corner. Sure, he had a girlfriend, but she had never met a guy who hadn't gone for her, girlfriend or not.

Oh well, Mary would do fine. _Just_ fine.

"Names not Ellen, sweetie." That smile, that evil, sick, deranged _smile_ spread on her face. Mary stepped backwards. "Really, Mary, you thought _I_ was the stupid one? You were the one working with a serial killer for three weeks! Really, Mary. I didn't want it to have to come to this. I was hoping to _spare _you." Mary backed into a wall. Alyssa closed her hands around Mary's throat. "Say goodbye."

But Mary couldn't say goodbye. Alyssa had already closed her windpipe. Mary flailed around like a fish without water. But there was nothing anyone could do to save her. Mary collapsed a few moments later. Alyssa reached into her bag and pulled out key. She felt a rush of exhilaration.

God, she had missed this.

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Greg could practically feel the scream before he heard it. People were flooding towards it, and a woman in a quite over zealous dress fainted. But Greg didn't want to see. He no longer cared. No, his eyes were fixated on something else. Some_one_ else. He would recognize her anywhere. Even with blonde hair. Even in a royal blue dress. And she knew it. She beckoned him forward, and began waking up a staircase that led…well Greg didn't know that exactly. Up? He didn't follow. She didn't stop smiling. She put a finger to her lips. _Shhhhh._ She beckoned again, before disappearing up the stairs. Greg had a split second to decide what exactly he was going to do.

All right. He had decided. He walked towards the stairs and followed her up.

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It was a balcony. Long ribbons of fabric hung from it, some sort of needless decoration. She was leaning against it, her arms spread out wide against the top, like they always posed in movies. Greg walked towards her, taking caution, but at the same time knowing he was unarmed, and that she was aware of this too.

"I'm not going to hurt you." She looked at him, and smiled. "Not yet anyway. Besides you weren't my original target." Greg followed her gaze to see what her eyes were fixated on.

"If you hurt her—"

"You'll what? I've hurt her before, in case you forgot. Your blushing bride is missing a foot. And a honeymoon. And a _husband_." Greg said nothing. Alyssa turned away. "Anyway, I do plan on hurting her. Quite a bit. And really, by the end of it there will be nothing you can do it about it."

Greg looked back over the balcony. Wendy had turned towards them. She met his gaze. She began to move towards the balcony.

"I can call every cop down there in a second. I can have them arrest you."

"Futile." Alyssa scoffed. She turned back towards him, and for a panic-filled second she glanced back over the balcony, but she turned back quick enough that Greg thought she had missed Wendy's movement.

"I can see her. It's not like she can do much either."

Maybe not.

"This is all pointless anyway. It's not like I _plan_ to make it out of this night alive Greg. I don't plan for anyone to make it out alive." Greg looked at her, but before he could say a word he was shoved out of the way.

Wendy lunged at her sister. "Not even a hello, sissy?" Wendy kneed Alyssa in the stomach. She let out a _whoosh_ of air as the wind left her lungs, before collapsing on the ground. Wendy moved towards Alyssa again, but Alyssa managed to kick Wendy off her feet, before getting to her own. She grabbed Wendy and held her over the balcony.

Greg lunged towards Alyssa and pulled her backwards. Alyssa reeled around and punched Greg. He stumbled backwards, but took only a second to lunge forward again. He wrapped his hands around her neck and managed to smack her head against the wall. She put her foot directly on his chest, and pushed backwards hard, sending Greg reeling across the ground.

Wendy stood back up, and grasped her sister around the shoulders, pulling her backwards, and sending her tumbling over the balcony. At the last second, Alyssa grasped her sister's hand, and Wendy went tumbling with Alyssa.

Wendy grasped onto one of the hanging ribbons, desperately trying not to die. She clutched hard, but she could feel her hands slipping, she could feel the ribbon ripping from the wall, Wendy was grasping for breath. She clutched as hard as she could before she notice something. It was small, but it was there. A red, flashing light.

_A bomb_.

Before Wendy could even scream, she heard her sister laugh.

"Bye bye Wendy."

Alyssa pressed the button. The bomb detonated. The balcony collapsed.

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Only one part of the platform collapsed when Alyssa pressed the button, however. So for a brief second, everyone in the ballroom stood completely still. And then, of course, all hell broke loose. Greg had happened to jump out of the way of the first bomb and was standing on another part of the balcony. Grissom and his barrage of cops began moving forward, but Greg had a wild feeling that this was not something Grissom could help with.

"_Leave!" _Greg yelled. Grissom hesitated. Greg yelled it again and, though a bit unwillingly, he left. And just as he walked out of the door, another bomb was detonated. Greg felt the floor he was standing on disappear, and then he fell all the way down to the ground.

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Wendy stirred. She shoved a few rocks out from where she was. She managed to push herself up, crawling to a standing position. She was sure she should feel pain, but she didn't. That probably should have frightened her too, but her entire body was frozen and numb. The ballroom was empty. Well empty of life. Wendy kicked aside the body of a poor soul who had been under the balcony when the bomb went off and began to move slowly forward, pushing away large chucks of rock and debris that had landed in her path. Anger and adrenaline pumped through her body.

"Where are you?! You can't hind in here! There is _no more hiding! Game over!" _Wendy let out a mad laugh that would have set off alarms in any other sane persons head, but, as previously mentioned, Wendy was not acting very sanely at this point. She hauled up a big piece of rock and through it directly in front of her. It smashed angrily against a wall, shattering into hundreds of little rocks. Wendy heard a rock shift behind her, and she swirled around, picking up another rock and sending it hurling through the sky. The anger was mixed with something else now. Desperation. Sadness. Wendy felt so near tears that she had to nearly slap herself across the face to keep her focus. Now was not the time for tears. No. She needed to focus.

"Why Alyssa? Why did you do this? You don't have to go to jail. We can get you help. But you need to _stop_. You've killed too many innocent people. I can help you. But you have to help yourself first." Wendy switched to an interrogation technique, on of the first ones she learned. Sympathize with the enemy. Make them think that they're in control. Make them an offer they can't refuse. Offer help.

"You want to know why I did this? _Ha!_ All you want is me rotting behind bars for the rest of my life. _I'm too young to die! I still have so much left to do!" _Alyssa let out a cackle of laugher that echoed so much that Wendy could not find where her sister was hiding. But she had gotten Alyssa talking. It was a start.

"Too young to die? Weren't all those people you killed too young to die? What about them?" Wendy was spinning around like the doll in a jewelry box, trying to pinpoint Alyssa. A horrid thought occurred to her then. _Greg_. Where had he been when the bomb went off? Where—

She was cut off by another round of Alyssa's mad cackling. "_Those_ people? _Ha!_ You can barely even call them people. They didn't have greatness. They would never achieve it! They had nothing left to do! _Me?_ I have so much potential."

"Oh yeah, so _much!_ Think of all those people who get to live if you went to jail. Oh no, the world will _never survive!_" Wendy felt the anger and fear pulsating through her system. She needed to find Greg. She needed to find Alyssa. Anger. She needed Alyssa to get angry. " Besides, it's not like there won't be other serial killers. _Better_ serial killers. Serial killers who don't let angry vendettas get in their way. Serial killers who don't get _caught_. Serial killers who actually _kill_ their intended victims instead of letting them get away!"

"Shut up. _Shut_ up. _Shut up!" _Alyssa was screaming now. Wendy had this. She pushed herself along.

"Oh yeah. I give you maybe three years until no one even remembers your name. Sure there will be the creeps, who remember you for even that long, but the real world? They won't remember you for over a year. You'll fade away, another pathetic serial killer who thought they could die forever immortal in folklore, but you? You are nothing more than a sad, pathetic excuse for anything. You can't even _kill people_ without screwing up!" Suddenly, a rock flew at Wendy's head. She swerved, and it flew past her. Her eyes fixated on a shadow. It darted away, but not before Wendy saw her.

"Jackpot."

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Greg pushed himself out of the rubble in time to hear Alyssa scream for Wendy to shut up. His leg felt numb, and was bleeding, but he hardly noticed. He pushed himself to his feet, checking to make sure his gun was still in its holster. _Perfect_. Greg felt nothing where his gun had once been. And judging by the way Alyssa and Wendy's screaming match was going, he didn't have time to look for it.

Greg moved forward, and his eye caught Wendy, spinning in a circle in the middle of the room. She didn't see him, but she couldn't see Alyssa either. Greg scanned the room more carefully. His eyes locked on a fair figure in a ripped blue ball gown. Alyssa. He began to very slowly and very quietly move toward her. She picked up a rock. For a panic filled second, Greg thought she had seen him, that she was going to kill him. But instead to threw it towards Wendy. Greg watched Wendy ducked, nodding, and continued walking, even more carefully.

Alyssa moved. Greg moved after her. He saw out of the corner of his eye that Wendy too was moving towards her. For a second, he ducked behind a corner. Then he heard a sickening thud.

Somehow, Alyssa had gotten behind Wendy, and managed to bring a rock down on her head. She lifted the rock again, preparing to strike Wendy, preparing to kill her. Alyssa grinned wickedly.

"I don't care if they all forget. Because _you'll_ remember. I'll be the last thing you ever see, dear sister, and that…well that makes it all worth while."

She began to bring the rock down, but Greg was quicker. He grabbed her wrist, pulled her to her feet, and connected his foot with her head. She tumbled backwards, landing flat on the ground. She screamed, and Greg saw the tiny remote she held in her had. He looked up, saw the tiny, flashing red device, and jumped out of the way right as Alyssa pushed the button.

The roof rained on them. Greg looked up, Wendy struggled to her feet, and Alyssa darted somewhere else. Greg pushed himself up and followed, desperate. He was not going to let her go away. He was not going to let her live. There was not a chance in _hell_.

Alyssa let out a desperate scream again, pushing another button. The roof fell, far away from them. It dawned on Greg that Alyssa had no idea what buttons she was pushing. She was just hitting them, watching the bombs blow. Greg heard another explosion. A part of the far left wall blew away.

Wendy was in hot pursuit of her sister. She wasn't too far now, if she could only just—

Wendy tripped over a piece of rock, tumbling forward. She heard another bomb go off, and only had a split second to look up, when she realized the ceiling was about to crush her.

She rolled away from the debris, narrowly avoiding getting crushed by a large chunk of ceiling. Greg approached her, and helped her up. Another bomb detonated. It wouldn't be long before this whole place collapsed. Wendy suddenly understood that that was Alyssa's plan. She didn't care if the individual bombs killed them; she wanted to whole building to come down on top of them.

Finally, another bomb exploded. Greg realized it before Wendy did. There was only one bomb remaining. Alyssa had to have known this. She was standing directly underneath it.

"Alyssa!" Wendy screamed, understanding. The roof came tumbling down.

"At least I'll die remembered!" Then, the roof crushed her. Other bits and pieces of roof were falling too. The building was collapsing, with Greg and Wendy still trapped inside.

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Gil Grissom watched the bombs explode, one by one, demanding to be let in, to go and save his people. But the bomb squad refused entry. Grissom stood watching as bomb, after bomb, after bomb went off, completely unable to do anything. The building began to collapse. Grissom began to run forward, but he was held back.

He watched desperately as the building fell to the ground. Seconds that felt like hours ticked by. Then suddenly, out of the rubble, a figure appeared. The SWAT team pointed their guns. But Grissom knew. He knew who was coming out of the doors. And it was not Alyssa.

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Two hours later, Alyssa Simms' body was pulled from the wreckage. There was no coming back from this one. She was dead, true and blue.

Wendy and Greg were sitting, getting tended to. Wendy rested her head gently on her husbands shoulder. She was crying, but she didn't quite understand why.

Maybe, maybe it was because it over. Maybe it was because Nick, Mandy, Riley, and so many other innocent people had to die for it to end. Maybe it was because she had lost her sister, or at least the memory of her as a decent loving person. Maybe it was because she had almost lost her husband, because she had almost lost her life.

Maybe. Maybe it was because, in the end, she had spent three years frightening a person, and now…well now she had nothing to fight anymore.

Maybe it was because everything was over. And maybe…maybe she was crying because she had never been happier in her life.

And she sat there, understanding that it was over, and that everything was okay, she remained silent. She and Greg just sat there, both of them thinking the same thing. Both of them understanding that they could finally live their lives.

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Catherine Willows lived for another 22 years, 6 months, 7 days, and 2 hours before being killed in a drunk driving incident, in her new home in California.

Her daughter, Lindsay, married and had three children, one of whom she named after Wendy.

Gil Grissom died 28 years, 9 months, 3 days, and 5 hours later. He suffered from a severe cardiac arrest.

Greg Sanders died 51 years, 11 months, 5 days, and 16 hours later of natural causes.

Wendy Sanders died 53 years, 4 months, 6 days, and 19 hours later. She sat in her room, thinking of her husband, thinking of her life, and thinking of what had happened before.

Wendy died happy. Happy because of her husband. Happy because of her children and grandchildren. Happy because of everything that had happened.

And as she died a single tear slid down her cheek. And she understood why she was crying.

She was crying because it was finally over.

FIN.


End file.
